Side By Side
by ThePossibilityOfMagic
Summary: Together they would stand, and together they would fall.    Spoilers for Knockout.
1. Drifting

_Okay, so this is a big moment for me. Most of you will have already noticed from the summary details that this fic is NOT complete, and so naturally it follows that this will in fact be a multi-chapter story._

_This is a little bit terrifying. Well, probably not for you, oh fearless readers, but it is for me. Because there's a reason why I've always clung to oneshots so desperately; because, to me, a multi-chapter is kind of like a promise. It's a commitment that you're making to the reader, and as fantastic as you guys all are, I wasn't sure I was ready to take our relationship to the next level just yet, if you know what I mean. But, like so much in the Ficwriting 'Verse, things often just happen whether you're ready for them or not, so I don't really see any other option than to just go with it and see where it takes us. I'm just hoping that it takes us somewhere more along the lines of Disneyland than the dentist, or the taxation office, or somewhere equally as unpleasant (apologies to any dentists or taxation officers out there...lol)_

_Anyways, getting on with this author's note before it becomes just another of those huge rambles that I appear somewhat prone to. __So, basically we all know that certain episodes (Knockdown, Countdown, etc) are particularly irresistable to ficwriters, and in those cases I truly tried hard not to jump on the bandwagon and write a story of my own centring around them– any of my regular readers will know how dismally I failed in that attempt– but this time is different. This time, I am completely willingly entering my own addition to the veritable flood of Knockout-centric stories that we are already neck-deep in. Hopefully it takes a somewhat unique angle, but considering I've not read the vast majority of other Knockout fics, overlap is a definite possibility, and I apologize for that._

_So, as always, please let me know immediately if you find anything that is OOC or requires fixing. Constructive criticism can be tough, but we're always grateful for it in the end._

_Also, liberties. I've taken a lot of them. As the story progresses you'll probably notice I've gotten a little creative in a few areas, such as with hospital policy, patient treatment/recovery, and various other little bits and pieces along the way. But, well, we all know details can be difficult, and as the famous Richard Castle himself put it, "Don't ruin my story with your logic." _

_Hope you like it._

_PS- Oops, forgot a disclaimer! All rights to Castle belong to His Holiness Andrew Marlowe, or whoever else actually owns it. (To be clear, I am not one of those people. I would love to be, but I'm not.)_

_Anyways, carry on._

* * *

><p>"Where are you going, Richard?"<p>

Drifting out of the darkness behind him, his mother's voice curled around him like wisp of smoke, her normally exuberant, sonorous tones muted, even hesitant.

Halting at the door, he braced one hand against the frame, the other gripping the handle tightly as he exhaled, lowering his head.

Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath, but did not turn around. He couldn't. He simply couldn't face the idea of meeting her gaze, of seeing the sympathy and concern that had taken up residence in her eyes, the worry and the helplessness that he himself had placed there. To look into those eyes would be to acknowledge not only those feelings, but also the deeper, darker emotion that lay beneath them, the one that left the acidic taste of guilt in his mouth, the one that she fought to hide from him, the one that she would never willingly allow him to see.

Fear.

Throughout her years as an actress, she had mastered the art of the illusion, perfecting the ability to show people only what she wanted them to see and have them believe it completely. But no amount of skill could enable her to hide from him; as the one person who truly knew her, he was the one person she had never been able to fool.

Most of the time, he could read her as easily as one of his own books, and today had been no exception to that rule. Today, no matter how hard she had tried to conceal it, he had still seen the truth.

She was afraid. Afraid that a gunman had come so close to her family, not only to him and Alexis, but also to Beckett, the woman she'd come to think of not only as a friend but an honorary daughter, the woman who might now never wake.

He knew, however, that there was more to her turmoil than simple fear for their safety. He knew that overshadowing all else was an even greater fear, a fear based on a single, unwavering belief.

That to lose Beckett, really lose her, would be to lose him as well.

And try as she might, she couldn't conceal it from him; even during those interminable, torturous hours at the hospital, when he'd been all but deaf and blind to all that was around him, he'd still been able to see it in her eyes, to read the truth she tried so desperately to hide.

It was then, in the tense, crowded waiting room full of anxious bodies and unspoken fears, that he had first begun avoiding her gaze.

Because he couldn't bear for her to see the truth in his own eyes.

That she was right.

When she spoke again, sounding closer this time, he blinked and attempted to focus, realizing dimly that he'd never answered her.

"Where are you going, Richard?" she repeated softly, the quiet scrape of her slippers against the hardwood floor betraying her movements as she took another small, cautious step forward.

Taking a deep breath, Castle tightened his hold around the handle, the skin over his knuckles pulling taut as he gripped the smooth, polished metal with clenched fingers.

"I'm…" he began hoarsely, hours of disuse causing his voice to emerge as a low croak.

Swallowing, he took a breath to try again, but then paused, realizing dully that he didn't actually have an answer for her. Lifting his hand from the doorframe, he rubbed his face tiredly, his shoulders slumping as he sighed. How could he tell her what he didn't even know himself?

"Out," he said finally, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders. It wasn't a real answer, but it was the only one he had right now, the only thing he knew. "I'm going out. Go back to bed, Mother."

As he spoke, even he could recognize the effect that the past several hours had taken upon him, how lifeless his eyes and voice had become, his tone flat and detached, his words completely devoid of expression or emotion.

He recognized it, but somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Pulling open the door, he was about to take that final step when her soft voice halted him once more.

"They won't let you see her, Richard."

Her tone was gentle, but definite, the words lodging like tiny splinters in his heart. He made no reply– he wasn't sure he could– and for a few moments a bleak, heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the muted whisper of her soft, regretful sigh before she spoke again.

"God knows you've tried everything, Kiddo, but this just isn't something you can charm or threaten or buy your way into. Hospital policy is what it is, and it's not going to change, no matter how much you might want it to."

She paused, clearing her throat slightly, and when she continued her voice was edged with emotion, a trace of desperation beneath her words.

"But visiting hours are only a matter of hours away. Please, Richard, just come back in and try to get some sleep. You'll see her in the morning."

He knew she was right. She was his voice of reason, the glimmer of light trying desperately to keep him afloat in the sea of darkness that was slowly but steadily pulling him under, doing her best to protect him in the only way she could.

But it wasn't enough. Reason could no longer help him. It had deserted him, in the very same moment he had seen consciousness desert the woman he loved, leaving her limp in his arms.

"I'm not going to the hospital," he said at last, having no other answer to give. He wished he could find the words to comfort her, to offer some reassurance that everything was going to be okay. But they lodged in his throat, hollow, meaningless lies like _I'm fine _and _You don't need to worry about me_ almost choking him every time he tried to force them out of his mouth.

Clearing his throat quietly, Castle spoke again, his hoarse voice breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen between them.

"Go get some rest, Mother."

Without looking back, he stepped resolutely over the threshold, silently pulling the door closed behind him.

###

It feels like a lifetime later when he finds himself standing upon another doorstep, one that is completely different yet almost as familiar to him as his own.

Beckett's apartment building had no doorman, but getting in presented him with no problem; in a rare show of trust and intimacy, Beckett had told him weeks ago about the special, concealed buzzer known only to residents and trusted friends, designed for use by residents to gain entry when they had forgotten their keys or had their hands too full to be able to place the key in the lock.

Exhaling slowly, Castle pressed his fingers to the smooth button, hearing the faint buzz and then click as the lock disengaged, allowing him entry. Grasping the handle, he stepped slowly inside, his movements hesitant and uncertain as he entered the dim, silent space of the foyer.

In reality, he knew there was absolutely no justifiable reason for him to be here; in fact, he didn't really know why he was there at all.

All he knew was that he'd simply gotten in the car and just started driving. And now, here he was. Standing alone in a building full of people, with the only person he wanted to see still far outside his reach.

Pausing in the middle of the foyer, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, dully wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with himself next. Logically, he knew there was really nothing for him here; only long, silent hours of sitting in front of the locked door of her empty apartment, a cold, sleepless night spent wishing that he could see that door open, see her surprised, puzzled gaze lock upon him, hear her incredulous voice demanding to know exactly what the _hell_ he was doing in her hallway in the middle of the night.

With a low groan, Castle dropped his head, running a hand swiftly through his hair in a fit of agitation and helplessness. He'd lived most of his life without knowing her, a happy, full, successful life that had never once seemed lacking. But now that he _had _known her– now that he was so completely and irrevocably _hers_– the prospect of being without her left him lost, adrift in that dark, turbulent ocean with no land in sight.

Lifting his head, he slowly turned back towards the door, not knowing what else to do but to leave. As he turned, however, his gaze caught onto something, and in that moment, something deep in the depths of his subconscious clicked into place. Suddenly, he understood why he'd been drawn here.

He was still drifting, but now he had spotted a hint of land in the distance, a tiny symbol of hope and comfort.

Walking purposefully across the foyer – because he _had _a purpose now, and he clung to it like it was the only thing that could keep him from going under– he knocked loudly on the door marked '1'.

Barely breathing, he waited with his hands clenched tightly in his coat, hoping desperately that the person he needed would be home. Biting his lip, he gave another swift, loud, slightly desperate knock, and after what seemed like an eternity was rewarded with the dull clunk of bolts being undone and then the squeak as the door inched open, chain still in place.

"This better be an emergency," complained the irritable female voice, her sleepy eyes blinking out at him from the gap. "The open hours clearly say 9am to 9pm, and it's almost midnight. So tell me right now that it's an emergency or get the hell out."

"Ms. Poulter, it's Richard Castle," Castle responded quickly, his voice low and imploring. "Please, I need to speak with you."

The landlady blinked comically, her eyes suddenly focusing, growing instantly awake and alert as she looked him over.

"Mr Castle?" she asked, frowning at him as she unlatched the chain and opened the door. "What's going on? Where's Kate?"

"Kate…" Castle swallowed, then forced the words out. "Kate's in hospital. She's been shot."

The old woman's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror.

"Oh my goodness. Is she…"

Castle's breath caught in his throat, and he worked quickly to hide his wince; he knew that her question was asked only out of concern for Beckett. She couldn't know that her every word was painful to him, twisting the knife deeper into his already damaged heart.

His voice suddenly hoarse, he answered, "She's stable. The doctors… the doctors are hopeful."

Seemingly noticing his distress, the landlady simply nodded, saying nothing more about it. Instead, she simply gave him a sympathetic look and took a step back, giving him space to enter.

"Come on in, Mr Castle. "

* * *

><p><em>So, there's chapter one. It was a bit of an angst-fest, I'll admit. But hey, if the love of your life (naturally, I do consider Beckett to be his...) was shot right in front of you, you'd probably be pretty messed up too. I sure as hell would be.<em>

_Anywho, naturally I would absolutely love to hear what you guys think. I'm also totally open to predictions/suggestions as to where this story is headed or things you guys would desperately like to see happen. There's a definite plan, but I'm well aware that I'm the multi-chapter rookie here, it's up to you guys to be my Royce and teach me what you know (you know, without the whole me falling in love with you and then you eventually betraying me thing. 'Coz that would just be awkward.)_

_So anyway, next chapter should be posted in a few days. Thank you all so much for reading!_

_-Laura_


	2. Drowning

_Normally, I'm one for long, rambly author's notes at the beginning of a chapter (Exhibit A: the A/N in chapter one) but I'm going to try to tone that down as much as I can so as not to disrupt your reading. There'll still be fairly long A/Ns at the end of each chapter though, 'cause I simply can't resist, but feel free to just ignore those._

_Anyway, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and here's chapter two!_

* * *

><p>Half an hour, a cup of tea, several cookies and autographed copy of <em>Storm Fall<em> later, Castle stepped back out of the landlady's apartment, a key clutched tightly in his hand like it was his only lifeline.

Turning to face the elderly woman, he paused, meeting her eyes.

"Mary, thank you. Truly."

The look she gave him was kind, but stern. "Just don't make me regret it, Mr Castle. I've always liked you, much more than the pretty doctor one, because Kate always smiled so much more when she was around you. But if you betray the trust I've given you, I promise I will not hesitate for a second to have you arrested and hauled away for trespassing."

Knowing without a doubt that she meant it, Castle's lips tilted a little at the corners, the closest thing to a smile he could muster.

"You have my word, Mary. I know what you're risking for me, and I'm more grateful to you than you could imagine. I won't let you down."

Holding her gaze for a moment, he hoped that she would be able to recognize the truth in his eyes; his gaze faded, broken, but sincere. Inclining his head, he added, "Goodnight, and again, I'm very sorry for disturbing your rest."

The woman nodded, her eyes kind. "My prayers will be with you both, Mr Castle."

With that, she drew the door closed, the soft click of the catch followed immediately by the heavier sounds of the locks falling back into place. Taking a deep breath, Castle turned on his heel, crossing the foyer to the elevator in just a few long strides.

Within minutes he was in front of her door, gripping the key so tightly it dug painfully into his palm. When she woke, she was probably going to kill him for this.

No, she would _definitely_ kill him for this.

Having already made his peace with that possibility, however, he did not back away; instead, he swallowed slightly, straightened his shoulders, and slipped the key into the lock.

The apartment was dark, quiet, echoing with an emptiness that went beyond the physical. Flicking on the light, he pulled the door closed behind him and firmly slid the bolt into place, taking some small, odd comfort in sealing the rest of the world– and the pain of reality– outside.

Then, leaning heavily against the door, Castle simply allowed himself to breathe in the familiar space, letting the tension slowly ebb from his body.

Already, the dull ache in his chest was easing, lessened by the overwhelming sense of _her_ that filled the entire space, every inch deeply ingrained with her essence. Surrounded by a space that was so completely hers, he was finally able to feel near to her even despite the great distance– both physical and otherwise– that kept them apart.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pushed himself away from the door and slowly stepped further into the apartment, finding himself mesmerized by all the little things– the unwashed coffee mug beside the sink, the rumpled jacket tossed over a chair, the files spread across the dining table– all the little signs that spoke of the life lived within these walls, all still waiting patiently for their owner to return home and bring that life back with her.

It was strange to think that less than 24 hours ago she had been moving around this space, completely healthy and perfect and alive, and now...

Quickly forcing back the painful thought, Castle rubbed a hand over his eyes, then exhaled wearily and turned away.

Moving on, he came to the open doorway to the bedroom, and paused. It was a space he'd never before seen nor entered– except, admittedly, in his dreams– and this certainly wasn't the way he'd hoped or imagined that his first glimpse of the room would occur. Without passing over the threshold, he allowed his eyes to travel slowly around the space, permitting himself this one small insight into one of the few parts of her life that she was yet to let him see. Inhaling softly, his eyes widened just slightly as he registered the battered copy of Naked Heat on the nightstand, staring in silent surprise for a few moments before his gaze shifted, pausing to linger sadly on the open box of tissues that lay beside it.

A mix of emotions washed through him as he took in the sight, sorrow and grief overshadowing the rest as he thought of how the nights since the hangar must have been for her, left to grieve alone for the man that had been both her friend, her mentor, and her betrayer.

Blinking back the sudden tears that burned at the back of his eyes, Castle gently grasped the doorknob, his gaze taking in one last, long sweep of the empty room before he slowly and silently closed the door. He knew that he would not open it again for as long as he was here.

And he knew that he may never open it ever again.

Moving slowly into the kitchen, he found himself a glass– having been here often enough to know where they were kept, he was spared from the intrusion of having to search through her cupboards for one– and filled it with water from the tap, throwing back the entire glass in a single, large swallow.

Refilling the glass, he felt moisture on his fingers and frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as he looked down at the tiny rivulet of water escaping the base of the tap handle.

Shutting the tap off firmly, he continued to watch the slow trickle of water seeping from the handle, the creases in his forehead deepening briefly before he abruptly released the handle and turned away, moving on.

Continuing through the apartment, he crossed the floor to lower himself slowly onto the familiar couch, staring unseeingly around the room. The last time he had been here, the four of them– he, Beckett, Esposito and Ryan, a family in the strongest yet most unorthodox sense– had sat together in silence, united even further by the tragedy that had struck one of their own.

Wrapping his hands more tightly around the cool, damp glass, Castle dropped his gaze, remembering his last visit _before_ that night; remembering the words that could never be unsaid, remembering the fury in her voice and the fire in her eyes, remembering the soft click of the door as it shut him out of her apartment and out of her life.

He cursed himself for not telling her then, for not making her hear him when he had the chance. He cursed himself for his fear, for his stupidity, and for his cowardice.

But above all, he cursed himself for his weakness, for allowing her to push him away when he should have pulled her closer.

Like a cruel echo, her words from that night repeated over and over in his head, tormenting him.

_What about you, Rick?_

She'd challenged him. Dared him to say it. And he'd balked, stammering and hesitating and evading.

_Hiding._

Hiding from the truth, hiding from _her_. Hiding from the possibility of being hurt, exactly as he'd accused her of doing, just minutes later.

He was such a hypocrite.

Later that night, back in the safety and solitude of his office and comforted by a glass of his 135 year old St Miriam scotch, he'd told himself that he'd done the right thing, that holding back– not telling her the simple, honest truth– had been the right thing to do.

It had been the wrong time, the wrong circumstances, just wrong. He couldn't have told her then, not when she was so close to the edge, not when she was too blinded by her anger and her all-consuming need for vengeance to see anything else.

He hadn't told her because she hadn't been ready. That was all there was to it.

He was just being reasonable.

At least, that's what his mind had told him.

His heart had told him he was an idiot.

An idiot _and_ a coward.

Sitting here now, all alone in her dim, silent apartment, it wasn't hard to see which had been right.

Throwing back the last gulp of water, Castle set the glass on the coffee table and then lay back on the couch, wearily covering his face with one hand. In the blackness that lay behind his closed eyelids, he could still see her clearly, looking up at him with defiance in her eyes.

_Is _that_ what we are?_

Her words had cut straight through the frustration and the fear for her safety that had been clouding his mind, momentarily stopping him in his tracks. Of all the words he'd expected her to throw back at him, of all places he'd expected this argument to go, a debate about the exact nature of their relationship– a topic that, by unspoken rule, they normally avoided at all costs– had never, ever even entered his mind as a possibilty.

Which was why he was so unprepared for it. With that one question, she'd knocked him completely off balance, destroying all of his carefully-planned arguments, enveloping him in a sudden, unexpected whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that left him utterly confused and wholly discomfited.

Until that moment he had been so certain of himself, of what he'd needed to do, but with those five little words she had turned him on his head and then all of a sudden he was floundering, reaching blindly for something,_ anything_, to latch onto, to bring him back to solid ground.

And he'd found something.

Anger.

Unknowingly, he'd done exactly what she had; forced beyond the boundaries of their comfort zone, they had both become defensive, turning to anger to shield them from having to acknowledge what it was they were truly feeling. They were afraid and losing control, and so they'd reacted in the only way they'd known how.

She'd pushed him. He'd pushed back.

And then finally, he'd pushed too far.

_You know what we are, Castle? We are over._

If possible, the words hurt more now than they had then. But in the days that had followed their fight, even though she'd never said it out loud, he knew by her actions that she had taken the words back, silently forgiving him for what he'd done.

He _knew_ she had. For as long as he'd known her, her eyes had always told him far more than she would ever admit aloud, and he took comfort in the apology and forgiveness that she had allowed him to see in their depths.

Suddenly, a familiar, torturous memory rose from his subconscious, playing behind his closed lids like a horror movie that he desperately didn't want to watch but couldn't tear his eyes away from.

_Quiet. They had to be quiet, or they were going to die. _

In his mind's eye he was once again back at the hangar, his whole body shaking with fear and the violence of her sobs as he pressed her into the car, his hand desperately covering her mouth, ragged pleas and apologies tumbling from his own lips like jagged stones.

Even now, he could still feel the brush of her trembling fingers against his cheek, the look in her tear-filled eyes absolving him even as he twisted that knife of betrayal deeper into her heart.

He could still remember the tears of grief and self-loathing that had burned at the back of his own eyes as he'd looked down at her, the tattoo of shots echoing all around them like furious peals of thunder before slowly descending into an eerie, dead silence that surrounded them like a physical presence, enveloping them in black, haunting stillness.

As the final shot punctured the air, he had released her at last, no longer having the strength of will to hold her back. And instantly, she was gone.

Left alone in the darkness, he had simply given in, leaning heavily against the car and lowering his head as the first tears of grief and defeat began sliding silently down his face.

Forcefully pulling himself back to the reality of the apartment, he slowly opened his eyes, realizing with a dull sense of surprise that his face was wet with unbidden tears. Scrubbing his face roughly with his palms, he forced himself to breathe deeply, blinking the moisture from his eyes.

This was just another of the many changes Beckett had caused within him; before knowing her, the last time he had cried was the day Alexis had been born. Now, as a man previously unaccustomed to tears, he had cried more of them in the past 48 hours than in the rest of his entire life.

He didn't need to see a mirror to know that his eyes were red-rimmed, slowly taking on a permanently bloodshot, watery appearance. It hadn't been until Alexis had pressed several tissues into his hand in the waiting room that he'd even known he'd been crying, a constant, silent stream that had coursed down his face from the moment Beckett had lost consciousness, the moment the normally brilliant light in her eyes had faded away into nothing, leaving him suddenly all alone.

How long he had sat there holding her, he didn't know. The memories from that point were vague; flashes of Lanie's frantic voice, his mother's gentle hands, the metallic scent of blood, the shrill scream of a siren, the overpowering feeling that something was being taken from him but not being able to make his brain focus enough to figure out _what_– all seemed more like fragments of a barely-remembered dream than actual events belonging in reality.

When he'd next become fully aware of his surroundings, he was sitting in an uncomfortable, poorly-manufactured plastic chair in a crowded white room that smelled of industrial-strength cleaner, old magazines, and fear.

Once he had adjusted to his surroundings, the first thing he had noticed was the small, delicate hand wrapped tightly around his, his daughter's pale, unblemished skin contrasting morbidly with the dark red of the dried blood– _oh god, Beckett's blood– _that covered his own skin like a macabre glove.

Now, safe in the comforting space of Beckett's apartment, his hands were clean, even if only in the most literal sense. No amount of hot water could scrub away the knowledge that _he_ was the one to blame for what had happened to her, that it was a disastrous, broken string of _his_ mistakes that had brought them all to this point, the tragic climax of the story that had been himself and Beckett.

And even though she had forgiven him for all he'd done, he knew that if he lost her, he would never forgive himself; for being such an utter screw-up, for walking out that door, for letting his own hurt and anger overpower him– but most of all, for leaving her all alone just when she had needed him most.

Just like she needed him now, lying alone in that hospital room, surrounded by machines and doctors who were so cold and mechanical that they were barely more than machines themselves.

Because of them, he had been forced to leave her alone once again. Because of them, he had again been forced to break the promise he had made her, a promise he had vowed to keep for the rest of his life.

With a heavy sigh of guilt, sorrow and regret, Castle wearily reached for a nearby cushion, dragging it into place beneath his head, before slowly pulling his phone from his pocket. With two alarms set– the second for insurance– he placed the phone on the coffee table, then leaned back once more and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he willed himself to sleep, to allow exhaustion to pull him under, to take him away from pain and emotion and reality for a while.

He knew that he had broken his promise to her, and that no matter what happened, he was going to have to live with that for the rest of his life. But he also knew that when she woke, he would do everything in his power to make sure he would never, ever break it again.

Finally, he began to slip slowly into an exhausted sleep, his head echoing with bittersweet memories.

_Just once, I wish someone would come up to me and say something new…_

* * *

><p><em>So there it was, yet another veritable bucket of angst. I know not everyone shares my somewhat morbid love of seeing Castle in pain, but I hope you guys are still enjoying the story despite that. And I promise that we <span>will<span> get to the hospital... soon... _

_And now for a serious question: what did everyone think of the copious amounts of flashbacks in this chapter? Did it all flow okay, and did I do the scenes justice? As readers, I know that you guys will have a different perspective of the writing than I do, so if you have any suggestions for changes or improvement, don't hesitate to let me know :)_

_Oh yeah, and you know what I said last chapter about taking liberties? You probably noticed a few in this chapter. But oh well... it's fiction. _

_Anywho, thank you again to all those who have reviewed so far! It's been really exciting to see a lot of new names along with my crew of trusty regulars. You guys are all fantastic and I really do appreciate your support :)_

_And to everyone else, thanks for simply taking the time to give this a read!_

_–Laura_


	3. Resurfacing

_Hey everyone, so this chapter is a little shorter, a little different. Personally I'm not a big fan of it, but I don't know whether that's because it's no good or because it's 3:30am and I've been running on an average of 5 hours' sleep a night for the entire week. Either way, I'm definitely going to be rereading this one and probably editing it a bit once I've paid off this damn sleep debt, and hopefully I'll be able to improve it. _

_So anyway, with that totally encouraging author's note, I'm going to leave you to it._

_Enjoy. _

* * *

><p>It was amazing how quickly things could become pattern.<p>

Dragging himself from Beckett's couch at the crack of dawn, driving himself back to the loft to eat and shower and dress– mechanically performing all the basic tasks that he bothered to do only because his mother demanded them of him– before immediately leaving again, pausing only long enough to brush his mother's cheek in a kiss and give Alexis a brief, distracted hug on his way out the door.

Arriving in the waiting room to take his regular seat and be offered coffee by nurses with sympathetic smiles and tired eyes, but always refusing them with a polite, "Thank you," because even the idea of accepting coffee from anyone hurt in a way he didn't quite understand but never wanted to experience again.

Being joined by Jim five minutes before visiting hours began, the two of them sharing a silent nod before waiting together– in each other's company yet at the same time totally alone– for the clock to tick over and the nurse to allow them in.

Sitting in their regular chairs, one on either side of the bedside, both angled to face the woman in the bed, the woman that meant more to each of them than their own life.

Time passing at varying speeds as they sat there, occasionally shifting position or standing, moving away from the bed only when the doctors or nurses needed access, leaving the room only when the needs of the stomach or bladder could no longer be ignored.

The flow of others entering and leaving, both well-wishers and hospital staff, the former leaving cards and fresh flowers and gifts, the latter leaving charts and fresh IV bags and hollow assurances.

Acknowledging Lanie, the boys, his mother or Alexis when they came in, reassuring them of his own wellbeing whenever the question arose– as it often did– and even stepping outside briefly while they visited, allowing them time alone with Beckett and allowing him escape from the silent frowns and troubled glances.

Attempting civility towards Josh when he arrived for his daily visit, all the while resenting every single moment he was in the room, and yet paradoxically also resenting every moment he was _not_ in the room, giving up everything to sit at Kate's side like a boyfriend should.

Leaving the hospital only when visiting hours had officially ended, and even then only when one of the staff– generally a stout male orderly, due to the family of Katherine Beckett having quickly become known for their attempts at remaining past visiting hours– appeared in the doorway with a stern gaze and a firm suggestion to come back in the morning.

Returning to the loft to force down dinner and ask Alexis about her day, pretending not to see the worry in the eyes of both his daughter and his mother, hating himself for placing it there but not being able to do anything to dispel it.

Giving Alexis another hug on his way back out, driving on autopilot as he headed along the familiar route to Beckett's building, nodding a vague greeting to any tenants he encountered in the foyer or hallway as he made his way to the apartment.

Passing the time in her apartment by distracting himself with little tasks; cleaning out the fridge, oiling the squeaky bathroom door, making careful notes on his laptop to be added to her murder board, and generally just cleaning or fixing everything he could reach until at last exhaustion would claim him, and he would drag himself to the couch to sink once more into a few hours of merciful nothingness.

It was amazing how quickly the pattern had become his life.

###

Eight days after the Captain's funeral, the pattern changed.

Castle and Jim occupied their usual chairs in the waiting room, the silence between them absolute, but familiar, almost companionable. They'd said little to each other in the days following what had happened in the cemetery, but somewhere along the line an understanding had formed between them, the two of them transitioning from near strangers to something resembling allies, two men closely bound by a shared bond.

His eyes fixed resolutely on the clock, Castle followed each tick of the second hand as it counted down the remaining three minutes until visiting hours began, his hands slowly clenching and unclenching in his lap as he willed the time to pass.

So focused was his attention that he never saw the young doctor approaching, her presence not even registering in his brain until she addressed them from the doorway, her voice breaking into his thoughts.

"Excuse me," she said politely, "I'm Doctor Everett. I'm filling in for Doctor Hudsen today."

She'd barely even finished her sentence before Castle was suddenly on his feet, the rapid movement catching her by surprise, making her falter just slightly as she continued.

"A-Are you the family of Katherine Beckett?"

It was Jim who answered, slowly rising to his feet to stand beside Castle. Placing a hand on Castle's trembling shoulder, he met his eyes for a brief moment before looking to the young doctor.

"Yes. We are."

The woman gave them both a bright, genuine smile. "She's awake, and she's well enough to have visitors. Naturally, she's still on quite a bit of pain relief, but I'm happy to say that she appears to be recovering extremely well."

Castle felt Jim's hand tighten on his shoulder, but didn't respond, unable to do anything but stare silently at the doctor for a moment, briefly trying to decide whether this was all just an incredibly vivid, cruel dream before remembering that he didn't actually dream anymore. Swallowing, he felt his eyes begin to burn and blinked rapidly, steadying himself before turning his head slowly to meet Jim's gaze. The older man's eyes glistened, but there was a small smile on his lips, the creases that had marred his forehead for the past week finally beginning to fade.

For a moment they simply looked at each other, sharing this moment that no one but the two of them could possibly understand. Then, taking a deep breath, Castle gave a small nod.

"Go. I'll call the others."

After a brief pause, Jim returned the nod, then gently squeezed his shoulder before stepping past him to join the young doctor. Castle simply watched, silent and unmoving, as the doctor gave him a small, kind smile before turning away, walking back towards Beckett's room with Jim at her side.

Once they had disappeared inside the door, Castle released the breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, then forced himself to turn around. He needed to find somewhere quiet to call the others, to let them know the news that he still scarcely believed himself.

Two minutes later he was standing in the relative quiet of the stairwell, staring down at his phone. His phonebook was open, but his thumb hovered over the screen, not knowing who to call first or even what he would say. And not knowing if he could even speak at all past the lump of emotion that was blocking his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

After a few more moments of uncertainty, he jabbed a button, exiting the menu, then opened up a message instead.

_Kate's awake. Come when you can._

Scrolling through his contacts, he added Lanie, Ryan and Esposito, as well as Alexis and his mother, knowing that they would want to be here. He even added Josh, though it galled him even to have the man's number in his phone. But despite that he and Josh might be rivals– perhaps even enemies– they were also oddly united, and Castle couldn't help but have a little empathy for the other man who dared to love Katherine Beckett.

Quickly hitting the 'Send' button, Castle slipped the phone back into his pocket and exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping. Then, slowly lowering himself onto the step, he ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, staring unseeingly at the floor. After eight days of dread, desolation and grief, the sudden transition into disbelieving relief and hope was overwhelming, the riot of emotions within him pushing at his control, threatening to completely overpower him.

Taking a deep breath, he worked at pulling himself together. Desperately clinging to composure, he felt how very tenuous his grip was, his control like fragile glass fraught with millions of tiny cracks, constantly on the edge of breaking into pieces.

He needed to hold on, to get himself firmly under control. He'd put the others through enough; he couldn't let them see him like this.

He couldn't let _Kate_ see him like this.

At that thought, he suddenly stilled, his whole body freezing as the truth finally began to sink in.

_She's going to be okay. _

In that moment, he knew it clearly, without any shadow of doubt. Kate was truly going to be okay.

And in that moment, the glass finally shattered.

All alone in the empty stairwell of a busy hospital in the middle of New York, famous novelist Richard Castle put his head in his hands and cried like a child.

* * *

><p><em>So, that was our final chapter from Castle's perspective! I was really hoping to do it more justice, but oh well... maybe when I look at it with fresh eyes I'll be able to figure out how to fix it. Hopefully. <em>

_But anyway, I wanted to say a big apology to you guys, because this is being posted a full day later than it should have been. I would have liked to have it up earlier, but I had an exam today so I needed to be studying for that. And speaking of exams, my really really big important one is in just under two weeks, so I'm going to warn you that there may be further update disruptions in that time. But after the 15th I'm on holidays, and I certainly plan on spending all of my time either eating, sleeping, rewatching Castle, or writing, so hopefully I'll have lots of nice, regular updates for you guys :)_

_So anyway, now I would like to say a huge thank you to all of you, both readers and reader/reviewers. Your comments and support have been amazing and I really just appreciate you guys so much. _

_Okay, so normally I would probably attempt to say something witty here but I'm so freaking tired that I think I'm bordering on delirious, so I'm just going to give up on that whole idea and simply say goodnight._

_So goodnight, amazing readers. __Until next time._

_-Laura_


	4. Remembering

_Hey there readers. So, here is chapter 4, our very first Beckett POV chapter (woo!) and since I gave you a short one last time, here's a nice, relatively long one for you :)_

_Before you get into it, I want to say another huge thanks to everyone who has left a review, or multiple reviews, on this story so far. You guys are fantastic and it really means a lot to me to hear back from you :) _

_Also, to avoid confusion, I'm just letting you know now that there's a bit of an unusual flashback-thing in this chapter. You'll know it when you see it._

_Oh, and just a quick shoutout to WonderTwinC for a helpful answer she gave me when I was trying to sort out some details for this chapter. If any of you guys have a tumblr, consider following me (my URL is on my profile page) because I'm probably going to have more questions about what readers want to see in future chapters and that's where I'll be asking them. Anywho, I'll stop talking now._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>It had been several years since she had woken up in a hospital bed.<p>

The last time, she'd been a fresh-faced, overeager rookie, caught in a messy suspect takedown out on the streets with Royce.

While Royce had grappled with the bigger of the two men, she'd moved quickly to relieve her own opponent of his gun, their heated struggle sending it skittering safely under a nearby dumpster. Unfortunately, she _hadn't_ been quick enough to dodge the switchblade that had suddenly appeared in his free hand, the blade that he had then buried deep into the flesh of her lower back.

_That_ had really pissed her off– more so the fact that she'd allowed him get the jump on her, rather than that the bastard had actually _stabbed_ her– and so in response, she'd made sure to break his wrist before delivering her best sucker punch to his jaw, letting him crumple, unconscious, onto the pavement at her feet. She could still remember looking down at him for a moment, the warm wetness soaking the back of her shirt and pants, before she turned to find Royce, to see if he needed help. She could still remember walking towards the spot where he knelt beside his own unconscious perp, her stride strong and assured until suddenly her knees met pavement and everything went dark.

But, all in all, it hadn't been a big deal– she'd been awake in less than an hour, back at her desk in less than two, with no more serious injury than a small laceration and a heavily bruised ego. Somehow, though, she got the feeling they wouldn't be letting her go quite so soon this time.

Slowly inching herself more upright, she reached under her thin hospital gown– she'd forgotten how much she disliked the damn things, so draughty and degrading– tentatively tracing the borders of the square bandage covering several square inches of her upper abdomen.

Holding her breath tensely, she determinedly ignored the dull ache that radiated throughout most of her torso– an ache she knew would be extremely painful if not for the plethora of painkillers she was on right now– and gently used her fingers to explore the area in the approximate centre of the bandage, carefully locating the exact site of the bullet wound. Wincing at the instant, razor-sharp flare of pain caused by her light touch, she clenched her eyes shut, her breathing steady but shallow as she waited for the pain to pass.

Once it had faded, leaving behind only the blunted, already-familiar ache, she once more let her finger hover over the site of the wound, more carefully this time, her feather-light touch placing only the tiniest fraction of pressure on the bandage. Then, tilting her head, she studied the outline of her hand through the gown, adding the visual cue to the physical focal point of the pain, trying to gauge the exact position of the bullet's entry.

As she sat there, leaning against the raised, utilitarian pillows and silently contemplating her newest injury acquired in the line of duty, she had to admit two very important things.

One; judging by the size and location of the wound, she was very, very lucky not to have bled out right there in the cemetery.

Two; it was, inarguably, an uncharacteristically bad shot for a sniper. Even from her more basic training at the academy, she was able to understand exactly why it hadn't been a head shot; it was an accepted fact that snipers were trained to aim for 'the centre of mass'– shooting for the chest whenever possible, in order to provide themselves with the biggest possible target– a fact that she was definitely feeling very thankful for right about now.

Again considering the position of the wound, she judged that the bullet had just nicked the underside of her ribs, just a couple of inches to the right of her breastbone– a decent miss for a trained sniper who should have been aiming for the heart.

Slowly pulling her hand back out from under her gown, she ran her fingers absentmindedly through her hair, pondering. Standing there as she gave her eulogy, she'd been completely exposed from the waist up, an easy target. For a sniper aiming from a position in front of her, there should have been a clear shot directly to her heart.

Which meant that, as far as she could discern, she should be dead.

So why wasn't she?

Just as she had that thought, she felt something else hovering at the back of her mind; a small, vague feeling that she was overlooking something, not seeing the tiny but important detail that would make everything make sense.

Frowning, she closed her eyes and pictured the scene, bringing it up in her mind's eye and examining it with the close scrutiny of a seasoned cop. Slowly, gradually, an idea began to take shape in her mind, coming together piece by piece, slowly connecting the dots in her head.

It was yet another accepted fact that a sniper would always avoid attempting to shoot _through_ any object between themselves and their target, knowing that coming into contact with even the smallest resistance could deflect the path of the bullet. She knew this, just as she'd thought she'd known that there was nothing that could have shielded her from the shot.

But there was.

As she'd stood there, seemingly without protection, there _had_ been something in front of her, something so innocuous that no one could have imagined that its simple presence would in fact directly impede the shot of a sniper, saving her life.

The microphone.

Beckett's breath hitched in her throat, the realization causing the hot, familiar prickle of tears behind her eyes. Closing them, she allowed herself to be enveloped by a memory, a conversation that had occurred just two days before the Captain's funeral.

–/–/–

"_Kate? What is it? Are you okay?" Castle's voice emerged abruptly from the phone, sounding concerned, almost alarmed. _

_Exhaling softly, she closed her eyes, unable to believe how good it was to hear his voice; his familiar, deep tones instantly calming her, just as they had always done._

_They'd seen each other little in the few days since the hangar; during that time, he had kept his distance, trying to respect her wishes and give her some space, for the simple reason that she'd asked him to. And, just like he seemed to understand everything she did, he'd understood that she'd needed time alone to grieve, and had given her that time, even though she could see that it had cost him._

_Surprisingly, it had cost her, too; she hadn't realized how much she'd come to depend upon his presence, upon his support, and upon the comfort that it seemed only he could provide. _

_There had been many moments when she had almost given in, simply shown up at the loft and allowed herself the warmth and welcome that she knew would be eagerly bestowed upon her by all three of its residents. But she couldn't. She was in a dark place, a place of grief and anger, regret and guilt; and no matter how much she might need him, she simply wouldn't– couldn't– allow herself to pull him or his family down further into the darkness with her._

_Still, though they saw each other little, she and Castle were almost always in contact, texting each other at all hours of the day and night. For him, it provided the assurance that she was okay. For her, it provided the only comfort she had. _

_But this had been the first time she had actually called him, breaking the barriers that she herself had imposed. She hadn't meant to; still determined to keep the darkness to herself, she hadn't even realized what she was doing until she'd heard his voice at the other end of the line._

"_Kate?" His voice was more insistent now, laced with just the slightest trace of panic. With a vague sense of surprise, she realized that she was yet to actually speak. Clearing her throat slightly, she took a deep breath._

"_I'm okay, Castle. You don't need to worry."_

_Her voice was hoarse from many hours of disuse, and she cleared her throat again, taking a moment to try to figure out what to say._

"_What is it, Kate?" he asked again, his voice a little calmer now, gentler. _

"_Evelyn…" she began slowly, the name feeling like a razorblade in her throat. "Evelyn wants me to give his eulogy."_

"_Oh, Kate," he breathed, his words a soft, sad sigh._

_Beckett swallowed, gripping the phone tighter, then voiced her fear._

"_I don't know if I can do it."_

"_You can," he responded, his voice gentle, but firm. She heard him give another tiny sigh before he continued, "You know that it's right that it should be you. Even with what happened, you still knew him best of anyone. And if he is somewhere out there, listening... don't you want him to hear what you've got to say?"_

_This time it was her turn to sigh. Somehow, he always found a way to say exactly the right thing._

"_I do," she admitted quietly, "But I just don't know, Castle…"_

"_You can do it, Kate," he repeated, the conviction in his voice clear. There was a moment's pause before he continued, his tone softening slightly. "And if you want me to, I'll stand beside you the whole time. You won't have to do it alone."_

_Closing her eyes, Beckett took a slow breath._ "_Promise?"_

_Castle's voice was clear, resolute, yet at the same time oddly intimate._ "_Promise."_

"_Okay. I'll do it, but…" she hesitated, uncertain, then continued, "Is there someone at the funeral home I need to speak to? Something I need to organize?"_

"_Leave it to me," Castle answered, his voice gentle. "I'll take care of it. All you'll have to do is stand up and speak."_

_Relieved and grateful, she gave a soft sigh. _"_Thanks, Castle."_

"_It's okay, Kate. I know what to do– I've done it once before, for my mother at Chet's funeral. There's only a few minor details to sort out with the funeral director. One main thing they'll ask me, though, is whether you'll want a microphone or not. They need to be able to set it up beforehand."_

"_I don't know, Castle," she answered slowly, trying to force her exhausted brain to think it through. "It's only going to be a small funeral, so I guess... I guess won't really need one. Tell them not to worry about it."_

_Castle made a contemplative noise in his throat, then fell silent for a few moments before speaking again, his tone thoughtful. _

_"No... I think you should have one, Kate. You wouldn't expect it, but it makes a difference– having something to give your voice strength, so the strength doesn't all have to come from you. I think having the microphone will make it all just a little less painful for you." _

_Beckett nodded slightly in response, not caring that he couldn't see it. _"_If that's what you think I should do, I'll do it, Castle."_

"_Good," he answered gently, his voice low and comforting as he continued. "Now stop worrying about the rest of it, and just let yourself think about what you want to say. I'll deal with everything else, and on Monday all you'll need to do is stand behind that microphone and just let the words speak for themselves."_

–_/–/–_

Forcefully dragging herself out of the memory, Beckett blinked rapidly, clearing away the tears that were blurring her vision.

_Castle._

Once again– whether he realized it or not– Castle had saved her life.

Just like he had before, so many times over the past three years.

Just like he had tried to, back there in the cemetery, desperately trying to take the bullet that was destined for her. Remembering the moment, a tiny, sad smile formed on her lips; it figured that, regardless of all the cops present, he had been the only one to see it coming.

The one who had risked his life trying to protect her, just like he'd been doing pretty much since the day they'd met.

She remembered him calling out her name, his voice sharp, panic-stricken; and she remembered the impact of his large, solid body against hers, driving her to the ground. But beyond that, any memories were vague, dim; mostly faded colours and muted sounds. When she concentrated hard, she could just scarcely retrieve a hazy vision of him leaning over her, his eyes wide and terrified, his mouth forming words that she knew were important but just couldn't quite make out.

Thinking about Castle, Beckett paused. She'd awoken several times throughout the previous night, groggy and disoriented, and each time her first instinct had been to call for him, his name already upon her lips as if it had been trying to escape from the moment the bullet had struck her. And it wasn't until she'd woken once again– just an hour or two ago– that she'd finally been lucid enough to understand why.

Taking a deep breath, Beckett ran a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. The young doctor had been gone several minutes now, heading out the door after promising to inform her visitors that they could now come in to see her. Beckett hadn't seen the need to ask her if she knew who her visitors were; she had no doubt that Castle would be one of them.

After all, he'd been there for her– not just in the cemetery, but _always_– and she knew that, no matter what, he would be here for her now.

At that moment, she heard the door handle turn and looked up quickly, a warm smile of welcome already forming on her lips, her stomach tightening just slightly as she watched the door swing slowly open, revealing the man standing in the doorway.

It wasn't Castle.

The smile faltered slightly, then grew once more as she watched her father step slowly into the room.

"Hey, Dad," she grinned, her happiness at seeing him completely genuine. Still, that couldn't stop her eyes from quickly darting over his shoulder, instinctively checking to see if Castle would follow him in.

Instead, it was the young doctor that stepped in behind him, quickly moving to the bedside to recheck the various monitors that surrounded her.

"Hey, Katie," her father said as he reached the bed, his lips curving in a gentle smile as he looked down at her. Taking her hand, he gave it a small squeeze.

"How are you feeling, Kiddo?"

"Surprisingly good, actually," Beckett answered, squeezing his hand back. She saw the doctor glance briefly in her direction, clearly aware that she was still in considerable pain, but said nothing. Beckett liked her for that.

"That's good to hear, Katie. I've been worried about you."

"I know you have, Dad," she said gently, then continued more firmly, "But it's okay. Ask Doctor Everett, she'll tell you. I'm going to be totally fine."

Both of them knew what she really meant.

_I'm not going to end up like Mom._

"She's right," the doctor agreed, smiling. "In cases like hers, keeping them under a medically-induced coma for a little longer always improves recovery, because it allows the body time to sort itself out and focus on healing. But she's even better recovered than we would normally expect at this stage. In fact, although you'll need a little more monitoring just to make sure everything is still progressing fine before then, it's quite possible that you'll be able to go home tomorrow."

"That's great news," her father answered, smiling gratefully at the young woman. She sent him a quick smile back, then looked at Beckett.

"Right, you're all set. Do you remember how to call for a nurse, like I showed you?"

Beckett smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I've got it. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'll be back to see you this evening, so have a lovely day until then, and make sure you still get plenty of rest," the woman said brightly, then made a show of glancing around, lowering her voice to a mock-conspiratorial tone as she continued.

"Just a hint: normally, we have a limit of five visitors maximum to a room at any given time, but I'm sure there will be plenty of family and friends just lining up to see you today, so I don't see how allowing a few extra could hurt. Just definitely try to keep it to less than ten in the room at a time, or the nurses will unleash their wrath upon you– and trust me, if that happens, there will be nothing I can do to save you."

With another quick grin, the woman hurried out the door, leaving the two of them alone, both staring in surprise after the bubbly young doctor. Looking back at each other, they simply smiled, and for a few moments there was a comfortable silence between them as they both simply appreciated the fact that they were here, together, and alive.

About half a minute later she couldn't resist glancing toward the door once more, the unbidden words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

"Dad, where's…" she began, then paused abruptly, catching herself before she could say his name. Suddenly embarrassed, she finished lamely, "…Everyone?"

Her father smiled knowingly down at her, giving her that look she'd seen so many times throughout her childhood and teenage years, the one that told her he saw straight through her. Dropping her gaze in embarrassment, she silently prayed that he wouldn't see the blush that was heating her cheeks.

"They're coming, Kiddo. They'll be here soon."

Looking back up at him, she smiled, ignoring the slight twinge of disappointment she felt deep in her stomach. She'd seriously thought Castle would have been here, waiting to see her, like her father had been. Telling herself to stop being ridiculous– his life didn't revolve around her, after all– she pushed the thought away, quickly changing the topic.

"So, what day is it? Was I out long? Did we get the shooter? And was anyone else hurt?"

Her father grinned. "Hold on, Katie, hold on. Let me sit down before you go interrogating me."

Laughing softly, Beckett let go of his hand, watching with a smile as he turned, taking a step towards the chair that sat just a few feet from her bed. But then suddenly he paused, regarding the chair with an odd look.

Tilting her head slightly as she observed him, her eyebrows rose curiously as he suddenly turned around, rounding the end of the bed to take the chair on her opposite side.

"What was that all about?" she questioned as he carefully shifted the chair closer to the bed.

"It's not my chair," was his only response, looking up at her with a small, cryptic smile. Beckett opened her mouth to ask exactly what it was that meant, when he spoke again, cutting her off.

"So, to answer your questions, today is Tuesday, and therefore logically it follows that you've been unconscious for eight days. Everyone else is fine, and no, they didn't catch the shooter, but they're certainly working their backsides off trying to."

"I'm a little surprised he didn't just sneak in here and finish the job," Beckett mused, but her father shook his head.

"He wouldn't have had the chance. During visiting hours you've always had at least one person in here with you, and outside of those hours there's been a security guard posted outside your door."

Beckett felt her eyebrows rise. "The NYPD provided a guard?"

Again, her father shook his head. "Privately hired. And considering your suspicions about the man behind Johanna's murder and your attack, even if they had offered, I don't think any of us would have been willing to take them up on it."

He paused, his expression somber, his eyes slowly dropping to fix on their joined hands. With a soft sigh, he spoke again.

"But Katie, let's not focus on that right now. I know we have plenty of other things to talk about, so, tell me: what would you prefer to hear? A full description of your surgery and current treatment, or an in-depth news and sport recap of everything you've missed while you were out?"

Beckett grinned. "News and sport, duh."

Her father grinned back, some of the old light in his eyes returning.

"I figured you'd say that."

* * *

><p><em>Oh boy. I know that some of you guys had some pretty specific ideas in mind for what you wanted to see happen in this chapter, and I know I didn't exactly have things happen that way, so please don't kill me haha... and y<em>_eah, I know you guys wanted Castle to see her. And he will... soon! I promise. _

_And also, try to resist the urge to murder me for the fact that she doesn't remember what he said back in the cemetery... __Really, all I can say is that (pretty much) every decision I've made when writing this fic, I've made for a reason. I guess you'll just have to trust me :)_

_Quick question: what did everyone think of the whole microphone thing? Was it pointless? I just write stories as they come to me and sometimes when I read back through I'm like, "That part serves no real purpose whatsover... why am I even including it?" So I don't know. Maybe I should take it out._

_Also, those liberties I keep mentioning... took a few more of them, hope you don't mind. I know Beckett being able to go home the day after waking up, and only 9 days after actually being shot, is probably pretty unlikely. And some of you may be aware that I'm actually a medical student, so maybe you think I should know this... but I don't. I don't start in hospitals until next year, and this year is very theory focused, so we don't really know anything about how hospitals really work yet. So yeah, I guess this is just another of those "My story/your logic" moments haha. Just accept it and move on. _

_So anyways, as per usual, if you notice anything OOC, any typos, anything at all that needs fixing up... just let me know! I can't fix what I don't know about, so your comments are always appreciated. And you know, if you have any other comments or views about the story that you'd like to share, I'd be happy to hear those too ;)_

_Again I also just want to mention that my exam is on the 15th so there may be some disruption/delay in my updating before then. But we'll see. _

_Anywho, thank you all so much for taking the time to give this a read! See you next time :)_

_-Laura_

_NOTE: due to the huge amounts of study I still have to do, the new chapter will be posted on the 16th. So stay tuned... :)_


	5. Waiting

_Hey everyone! Here is the new chapter, FINALLY. I'm so sorry it took me so long, but I had a mountain of last-minute study to do for my exam, and unfortunately that had to take precedence :/_

_Anyways, that's all I'll say for now- happy reading!_

* * *

><p>Close to fifteen minutes passed before the arrival of her next visitor, their presence signalled by a brief, quiet knock at the door.<p>

She and her father had still been entirely absorbed in their conversation, which had evolved from a basic sports recap into an in-depth analysis of the Yankees' prospects for this year, the two of them enthusiastically comparing the current team line-up to all the great players of the past. Her father had just been playfully prodding her once more about that time she met _Joe-Freaking-Torre_ and yet didn't even get him an autograph when the soft knock had suddenly interrupted them, immediately capturing their attention.

Lifting her head quickly at the sound, Beckett fixed her eyes expectantly on the doorway, completely prepared to see Castle come bounding in with some extremely gaudy, totally oversized novelty balloon proclaiming well-wishes in a colourful and suitably extravagant manner.

Instead, the door clicked gently open, a dark-haired head poking around the edge of the door.

"All right if I come in?"

"Oh, Josh, hey," Beckett greeted reflexively, rapidly extinguishing the mixture of surprise, disappointment, awkwardness and guilt that had just bloomed in her stomach. Forcing a quick smile– and hoping greatly that he wouldn't notice the effort it took, or that if he did, he would simply attribute it to her injury– she added warmly, "Of course you can come in."

To her relief, he didn't seem to detect anything unusual in her tone; instead, his handsome face lit with a broad smile and he quietly stepped into the room, closing the door behind him before crossing to her bedside and taking her hand.

Standing, her father pushed his chair back, stating pointedly, "I'll give you two some time alone."

"Oh, no, please stay, Mr Beckett," Josh answered quickly, looking up. "I've got to run in a moment anyway, I've got a patient assessment scheduled that I'm technically already late for. But I had a minute and I just wanted to see how Kate was doing. So please, stay."

Glancing at her father, Beckett watched with puzzlement as he silently appraised Josh, his expression inscrutable. Then, after a moment, he gave a brief nod and sat himself back down, pulling a pair of reading glasses and a small, worn paperback from his coat pocket.

Seemingly completely unaware that anything of significance had just transpired, Josh squeezed her hand, his warm, dark gaze meeting hers once more.

"So, how are you feeling, Babe? I spoke to Julie– Dr Everett– and she said you were doing 'terrifically'–" smiling, he lifted his fingers and crooked them to make quotation marks in the air before continuing, "But that woman is so damn positive about pretty much _everything_ that I wasn't really prepared to take her at her word."

"No, actually, I do feel pretty good," Beckett answered with a smile, trying to quash the irrational, inexplicable urge to remove her hand from his. "'Terrific' might be a bit over an overstatement, but don't tell her that. She's already said I can probably go home tomorrow, and I don't want anything changing her mind."

Josh chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Even if she _were_ to change her mind, I highly doubt it would stop you, Katie. You and I both know that once you've made a decision, there's no fighting it."

Forcing a soft laugh, Beckett dropped her gaze, a fresh surge of guilt rising in her throat. With her eyes still downcast, she opened her mouth– to say what, she didn't really know– but was spared from finding out when Josh suddenly glanced down at his watch, his eyes widening.

"Uh-oh, gotta run. Now I really am late," he blurted, lifting his eyebrows as he looked back up at her. "You don't mind, do you?"

Carefully controlling her relief, Beckett looked up, giving him a small smile.

"No, of course not. Go."

"Great," he said quickly, leaning in to give her a swift kiss on the forehead before stepping back, crossing the room in a couple of long strides.

Reaching the door, he grasped the handle, glancing back briefly.

"I don't know if I'll have the time," he began apologetically, "But if I can, I'll try to make it in to see you tonight before visiting hours are over, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, he flashed them both a quick smile, then pulled open the door.

He didn't even manage a single step further when he was instantly forced to step backwards, hurriedly removing himself from the path of the woman rushing through the doorway.

Caught by surprise, Beckett barely had time to register her best friend swiftly crossing the room before she was enveloped in an intense yet surprisingly gentle and careful hug, the dark tips of Lanie's hair tickling her face as the two best friends embraced each other.

From somewhere across the room, she heard Josh's hurried "Hey, fellas," followed by two very familiar voices answering simultaneously with a polite, "Josh." She was already grinning when Lanie finally released her, but the grin turned into a laugh as her eyes fell upon her two surrogate brothers, the two tough, _mess-with-us-and-we-will-end-you_ cops who were currently standing side by side at the foot of her bed, each proudly clutching a stuffed teddy bear.

"Hey, Beckett," Ryan said cheerily, greeting her as if she'd just got back from a week-long vacation to Hawaii, not just woken from a week-long coma after almost losing her life. For a moment the two of them simply grinned at each other before he crooked an eyebrow at her, adding playfully, "So what d'ya think? Mine's totally cuter, right? Come on, you can say it, we all already know it's true."

"Yeah, whatever you reckon, Bro," Esposito scoffed, holding up his bear, an adorable chocolate-brown teddy dressed in a full police uniform, complete with the hat. Sending Ryan a challenging look, he added confidently, "My bear could totally grind your bear into the _pavement_."

Turning to Beckett, he gave her a mischievous wink, adding conspiratorially, "It's okay, Beckett. I won't tell him that you totally prefer my bear. I know you don't want to hurt his sensitive Irish feelings."

"You know, I _am_ right here," Ryan stated dryly, "And my sensitive Irish _hearing_ works just fine." Giving his partner a small, playful shove, he turned around, stepping away from the bed to place his own bear– also decked out in full uniform, but cream-coloured and blue-eyed– on the small table that sat against the wall beneath the window.

"I'll leave Raley here where you can see him, Beckett."

With that, Esposito also stepped forward, his forehead creased in a frown.

"Well fine, if that's where yours is going, mine's going there too–"

"_Boys_," Lanie sighed in her ear, her long-suffering tone drawing Beckett's attention away from the two bickering detectives.

Grinning, Beckett looked up to meet her friend's eyes, then reached out a hand. Immediately Lanie took it, holding it tight and returning Beckett's smile with one of her own.

For a moment they simply looked at each other, sharing a silent moment of mutual relief and gladness before Lanie gave a soft sigh, her hand squeezing Beckett's gently.

"I'm so glad to see you up and awake, honey. And I'm sorry we took so long to get here– we would have been here sooner, but those two made me stop, just so they could pick up those goddamn _bears._"

Pausing, she gave Beckett a sardonic look, then shook her head slightly, adding, "But at least I sure as hell made certain that we pulled out the lights and sirens to make up for it."

Beckett laughed, then assured her, "It's okay, I forgive you. I haven't even been awake all that long. Plus, I had Dad here, and then Josh for a little while too, so I wasn't alone anyway."

Lanie's forehead creased in sudden confusion, and she glanced swiftly around, her eyes sweeping the small room as if searching for someone.

"Just those two? Where's–" she began, but was suddenly cut off by a yelp and the sounds of a scuffle coming from behind her.

Turning around, she put her free hand on her hip, glaring at the two grown men who had suddenly frozen mid-tussle, staring up at her with the guilty eyes of two little kids caught doing something they shouldn't.

"_Javier Emanuel Esposito _and _Kevin Archibald Ryan_, you two better start behaving like proper adults right now or I swear to God I will have you kicked out of this hospital so fast you'll be dizzy for a whole goddamn _week."_

"But–"

"Nuh-uh," Lanie said swiftly, holding up a finger and adding firmly, "I don't want to hear another word about it from either of you. Now, you will either control yourselves or get out. That's final."

Seeing the chastised looks on their faces, Beckett couldn't help but laugh, not even the fresh jab of pain in her abdomen able to wipe the grin from her face.

Turning away from Ryan and Esposito, Lanie looked down at her once more, rolling her eyes.

"They've been like little kids on a sugar high ever since we got the message," she explained dourly, shaking her head. "I swear, I nearly pulled the whole 'Behave or I will pull this car over right now and make you walk there' routine on the way here, they were being _that_ ridiculous. But, no matter how completely and utterly maddening they got, I still just didn't have the heart to do it. After the week they've had, I really couldn't blame them for being happy you were okay."

Beckett grinned, glancing over at the two men who were now standing on the other side of the bed, conversing easily with her father, making a completely transparent attempt to appear well-behaved and mature.

Looking up to meet Lanie's eyes once more, she gave her best friend a small, understanding smile.

"So, how've you been, Lanie?"

Lanie gave a soft, derisive snort, then shook her head slightly. "Girl, you're really not very good at this whole being injured thing, are you? Let me school you– _you're_ the one in the hospital bed, and I'm the one that supposed to ask _you _how _you _are, not the other way round."

"Well, I'm doing fine, and the doctor said I can probably go home sometime tomorrow," Beckett answered quickly, then grinned. "There, that's me done. Your turn."

Lanie narrowed her eyes at her. "Define 'fine', Beckett. I want the details, and don't you dare lie to me, girl, because if I read your chart and it tells me something different, I'm totally gonna smack you."

Beckett laughed, then gave in, knowing that it was pointless to try to avoid the issue. Squeezing Lanie's hand gently, she spoke honestly.

"I'm still pretty sore, but the drugs are doing a good job on that, so I can pretty much ignore it without a problem. It only really hurts if I touch it or if I move too suddenly. But the doctor truly said that I'll probably be okay to go home tomorrow. And that's all. Now come on, Lanie, please. I want to know how you are."

Meeting her questioning gaze, Lanie gave her a small, wry smile, then dropped her eyes.

"I'm okay. But, well... it's been a bad week," she admitted, her voice pitched low and quiet so the men wouldn't overhear.

Taking an unsteady breath, she continued, "I mean, I treated you at the scene– once I escaped Javier, anyway– and you know, it was hard. More than hard. You're my best friend, you know? I was terrified, borderline hysterical. Castle and I worked on you together until the paramedics arrived, and it was… horrible. All around us people were in chaos, and you were lying there barely breathing, and he was crying, and I was crying–"

"He was crying?" Beckett interjected disbelievingly, but Lanie barely seemed to hear her, her eyes remaining downcast, caught up in the memory.

"– and we were both shaking so much, so scared that you were going to bleed out right there and then before the paramedics could even get to you. We thought… hell, we both truly thought that we were going to lose you for good. It was terrifying. It was the single worst moment of my life."

Giving a soft sigh, she lifted her gaze, meeting Beckett's shocked eyes with a sad smile.

"So, if you want to know how I've been, that's pretty much it. It hasn't been a fun week without you, honey. Whenever we weren't here visiting you, the boys were back at the precinct, working like robots and barely speaking to anyone, even each other, unless it was to share information that might lead to your shooter. So, as much as I complain about their new-found and extremely irritating inability to behave like normal adults, it's still a million times better than how it's been the past several days."

Blinking back the sudden tears that burned behind her eyes, Beckett swallowed hard, overcome with shame and remorse. "I'm sorry, Lanie."

Lanie tilted her head, regarding her with a disbelieving look. "Girl, are you seriously apologizing for getting shot right now?"

Beckett chuckled, but shook her head slightly. "That too, but mostly I'm apologizing for dragging you all into this with me. I knew this was something I should have handled alone, and the more you guys are caught up in it, the greater the amount of danger you're in. I should have never gotten you all involved."

"Beckett, if you're going to apologize, it should be for putting _yourself_ in danger," Lanie said sternly, gripping her hand a fraction tighter as she continued. "Believe me, I know how much you need to find your mother's killer, but chasing him like this, risking your life… girl, it's just selfish."

Beckett blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"No, don't you give me that look. You haven't seen what I've been seeing for the past week. What everyone went through… until this morning, none of us even knew whether you were gonna pull through or not, or whether it would be _your_ funeral we would be going to next. It's been hard, really hard, for all of us. And god, even poor Martha and Alexis, those two have really been through all kinds of hell this week."

"Martha and Alexis?" Beckett asked slowly, utterly confused. "Why?"

Lanie gave her an intense, scrutinizing look, her dark eyebrows drawn close together. "You really don't see it, do you?"

Beckett frowned, trying to decipher her meaning. There was something more going on here, something beyond what had happened to her, something that she didn't understand at all. Apparently correctly interpreting Beckett's perplexed expression, Lanie shook her head, continuing in a low, somber tone.

"Honey, there's a reason why we've all tried so hard to keep you from chasing your mother's case– because, sooner or later, they're gonna come after you again. They'll keep coming, and no matter how careful you are, they're eventually going to succeed in killing you."

Lanie paused for a moment, and Beckett opened her mouth– intending to disagree, to defend herself, _something_– but closed it again almost immediately, silenced by the deadly serious look in her best friend's dark eyes. When Lanie continued a moment later, it was in a tone Beckett had never heard her use before; her voice quiet, grave, and heavy with the ominous ring of truth.

"They _will_ kill you, Beckett. And when that happens, when that next bullet takes you away for real, you're not the only one that's going to fall."

* * *

><p><em>Eeeeep. Before you murder me, just remember that if I die now, then you'll <em>never_ get to see Castle and Beckett's reunion! So maybe resist the urge to maim me just yet, mmkay? I know that I'm playing with fire here, taking so long for Castle and Beckett to see each other. But I promise, it's going to happen really, really soon. And at least I'm dropping heaps of hints to Beckett about Castle's dedication to her, right? That's gotta count for something._

_Anywho, again I want to say sorry that this chapter took so long. Stupid exams and studying. But now that the exam is done, I'm on holidays for the next five weeks, so I'll have lots of time to be writing away! Which is exciting._

_So, about the story, I want to just put out a question to see what everyone thought about the characterization. I found Lanie to be especially difficult in this one, because we're sort of seeing the more serious side to her personality (oh man, sassy Lanie is so much easier to write than sombre Lanie!) so I would love to hear any comments or suggestions for improvement you might have in regards to that. I'm a little uncertain about most of the other characters too, so if you noticed anything OOC for any of them, just let me know, and I'll see what I can do to improve them._

_Anyways, I just want to say another huge thank you to everyone who has been leaving me such awesome reviews on this story, because we all know that reviews are like crack to writers (does that then make you guys my dealers? lol) and I really do just love hearing back from you guys. _

_So, that's all from me now, and I hope to have the new chapter up in a few days :)_

_Thanks for reading!_

_-Laura_


	6. Watching

_Hey there readers. Sorry this one took a little longer than expected- considering it's been 3 months since I was last home, there have been a lot of friends to catch up with and much quality family time to be had. Good times. _

_By the way, a quick shoutout to the anonymous reviewer from last chapter who mentioned both Batman and breaking the laws of physics. I got a damn good laugh out of your review, one that earned me strange looks from the family members that were also in the room. But next time leave a signed review so I can give you a proper reply! :)_

_Anyways, without further ado... here we go, kids. _

_*gulps*_

* * *

><p>"Permission to approach the bed?"<p>

The words were low, tentative, but laced with just the tiniest hint of mischief; and though they were quietly spoken, they broke through the grave, heavy silence that had engulfed herself and Lanie like a rock through glass. Suddenly freed from the spell, Beckett finally tore her eyes away from Lanie's expressive gaze, her best friend's dark words still echoing ominously in her ears.

Glancing over, Beckett pushed the troubling thought aside and grinned broadly at the two boys, both of whom were waiting just a few steps from the bedside, eyeing Lanie cautiously.

"Quit teasing her, guys," Beckett laughed, and instantly their mock-frightened expressions vanished, to be replaced instantly by twinkling eyes and mischievous grins.

Her own grin mirroring theirs, she added playfully, "And permission granted."

A moment later they were beside her, Esposito's large hand on her shoulder, Ryan's hand covering her own.

"Yo, Beckett. Long time no see," Esposito said casually, then lifted one dark, teasing eyebrow, adding, "So, tell us, when exactly are you gonna quit slacking off and get back to work?"

Beckett laughed, then shook her head with a smile. "Heading home tomorrow, but you guys know how it is. The Powers That Be will probably take their sweet time clearing me to come back, so you two will have plenty of opportunities to drag the precinct into total chaos before I get back to straighten you out."

"Pffft," Ryan scoffed in response, stating assuredly, "Just wait and see, Beckett. We'll have the place running so smoothly that killers will be practically bringing _themselves_ in."

"Uh-huh, I'll believe that when I see it," Beckett teased, raising her brows. "I give you guys a _week_ before you come crawling to my door, begging me to come back–"

As she slipped easily back into the familiar, gentle ribbing she so often exchanged with the boys– considering none of them were too comfortable with outward displays of emotion, casual joking and teasing had always been their way of showing affection– Lanie simply smiled and gently released her hand, rounding the bed to speak with her father.

Glancing over, Beckett couldn't help but notice that Lanie appeared to be questioning him quietly about something, both of them sending brief, concerned glances in the direction of the door as they spoke.

Puzzled and wondering, she shook her head slightly and returned her attention to Ryan and Esposito, who now appeared to be caught in a heated debate.

"No, Bro, you do it."

"No way man, it was your fault," Ryan countered, shaking his head emphatically. "_You_ tell her."

"Dude, I'm bigger and tougher than you are, so she's way more likely to hurt me if I do it. You tell her."

"Nuh-uh, not a chance–"

"Guys," Beckett said firmly, although her strict tone was negated by the small grin on her face. "I _am _right here, and I _can _hear you. So just come out with it already."

The boys shared a long, meaningful look, before Ryan finally sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Well… it's nothing really, we just thought we'd better tell you before you heard it from anyone else…"

He trailed off, and after a few moments Esposito continued for him, looking slightly awkward.

"…Yeah, it's not really that big a deal, we just might have kinda…"

Pausing, he shot a hopeful glance at Ryan, and Beckett lifted her eyebrows, giving them both a quizzical look.

"Might have _what_?"

Ryan gave an embarrassed little shrug, his eyes fixing on a point on the floor as he spoke.

"…We might have sort of arrested a reporter…"

"You _sort of_ arrested a reporter?"

"Well, yeah…" Ryan began sheepishly, then continued hurriedly, "But we _had_ to. They were going to write some total load of crap about you and why you were shot, trying to take some sensationalistic angle and saying that there was some crazy Nikki Heat fan out there who had fixated on you and was gunning for you…"

Beckett laughed, genuinely amused. "Well, they're a little behind the times on that one– I mean, come on, Scott Dunn was _so _last year."

Seeming slightly relieved, Esposito gave her a broad, wolfish grin. "Yeah, we know. And we really would have left her alone, but she was attacking both you and Castle, saying stupid stuff like that you two had deliberately encouraged the fan attention to gain publicity, and that you actually getting shot was just your own plan backfiring…"

His grin fading, Esposito shook his head grimly. "Seriously, she was nuts. We couldn't let her go around saying stuff like that about you guys, and we also didn't really want her digging any deeper into your shooting, either, so…"

With another shrug, he trailed off, and they both looked at her with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

Feeling a flicker of amusement at sight of their worried faces, Beckett simply nodded, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Okay."

Ryan and Esposito glanced each other, then simultaneously turned back to look down at her.

"So… you're not even a little mad at us?"

Beckett bit her lip slightly, hiding her smile. "Depends. Who was the reporter?"

It was Ryan who replied, his forehead creasing slightly as he spoke. "Remember Lee Wax, True Crime Author? Appears she's moved into the reporting game now, and from what we can see she was going to try to use the story about you to really make her name in the industry."

Thinking of the brash, career-driven writer who had spent most of her involvement in their case giving Castle bedroom eyes, Beckett couldn't help but feel a surge of vindictive satisfaction at the thought of her being unceremoniously loaded into the back of a squad car in handcuffs.

Grinning broadly, she held up her fist, and after a moment of surprise, the two boys grinned back, bumping their own fists against hers.

"So I'm guessing she won't be writing that article anymore," Beckett mused after a few moments, the hint of a wicked smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Esposito gave a low chuckle. "Nope. She did screech at us for a while about freedom of speech or something like that, but we sorted her out soon enough."

"How did you get her to agree not to run it? Knowing her, I would have thought she would have found some kind of irritating legal loophole _somewhere_."

"Well actually, it technically wasn't us that got her to back off. It was–" Esposito began, but suddenly cut himself off, turning slightly to grin at the three familiar figures who had just stepped into the open doorway.

"Hey, look who's here," Ryan called cheerfully, a wide, welcoming grin spreading swiftly across his face as he too turned towards the door.

Beckett didn't have to look to know who it was. She just knew. She may have been unconscious for eight days, but that didn't mean she had forgotten the feel of his gaze upon her, or the subtle shift in her awareness any time he was present in a room. And this time, she'd felt the shift even before Esposito had stopped speaking, and known immediately what it had meant.

He was finally here.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she willed herself to seem as casual as possible as she turned her gaze to the three people entering the room, giving them all an easy, relaxed smile.

"Hey, guys," she said warmly, and if anyone thought she suddenly sounded a little breathless, she would simply attribute it to the bullet wound. Any sudden increase in activity from the heart monitor might prove a little more difficult to explain, however, so she forcefully willed herself to relax, keeping her breathing slow and steady.

Silently praying that the accursed monitor wouldn't betray her, she watched with a smile as the three of them entered the room together, a beautiful little family unit that had so often happily allowed her to pretend to be one of them.

Alexis was closest, her normally cheerful face positively beaming with happiness. Martha was right behind her, smiling and wiggling her fingers in a cheery little wave. But behind the two of them stood the final member of their small family, the one person she had been waiting to see ever since the very first moment she had regained consciousness.

_Castle._

Her initial reaction was joy, which quickly turned to shock as she focused on him properly, her gaze rapidly absorbing every detail of his appearance, taking in the sight that was so achingly familiar and yet wholly foreign to her at the same time.

In the three years she'd known him, she'd_ never_ seen him like this; dark, bruise-like shadows lay beneath his eyes, and he looked thinner, sick even, like he'd barely eaten or slept in days. Dressed in jeans and a worn t-shirt instead of his customary tailored suit, he was less groomed than she'd ever seen him; with his hair tousled and a dark layer of stubble covering his jaw, he barely looked like himself.

Suddenly conscious of the fact everyone's eyes were on them, she hastily covered her shock and allowed herself to catch his eye only briefly, flashing him a quick, welcoming smile before shifting her gaze back to his daughter, who was just now reaching her bedside.

"Hey, Alexis," she said warmly, the affection in her voice completely genuine. The girl meant a lot to her, and– though she'd never admitted it to Castle– she'd always thought that if she ever had a daughter, she would want her to be just like Alexis.

"Hey, Kate," Alexis beamed, then hesitated slightly, seeming suddenly self-conscious. "Could I– can I give you a hug?"

Beckett grinned, touched. "Of course."

Instantly the broad grin was back, and the next moment Beckett was wrapped in an eager hug, the girl's slender arms clinging to her tightly.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Alexis whispered, and Beckett was startled to hear the depth of emotion beneath her words, her voice roughened with unshed tears. Giving the teenager an extra squeeze, Beckett held her tight for a few moments longer before reluctantly releasing her, allowing her to straighten up, her blue eyes overbright.

A moment later, the brief silence was broken by Martha's rich, thespian tones. "Well, I'm sorry, darling, but I'm not even going to give you a choice in the matter. You're getting a hug from me whether you'd like one or not."

Beckett laughed as Martha stepped up to take the spot Alexis had just vacated, the sweet scent of her perfume surrounding them both as the older woman pulled her into a soft embrace, squeezing her gently in a way that was simultaneously so foreign and so familiar– so caring and _motherly–_ that she felt her eyes suddenly begin to burn, hot with unbidden tears.

Hastily blinking them away, Beckett hugged her back just as tenderly, and a moment later Martha's voice spoke in her ear, her tone suddenly quiet, serious, and heavy with feeling.

"It's good to have you back, Kiddo," she sighed softly, and just for a moment, Beckett got a sense that despite her outwardly breezy, untroubled demeanor, the older woman had been carrying a heavy burden for some time, one that had taken a profound toll upon her.

But almost instantly the moment vanished, and Martha suddenly brightened once more, adding theatrically, "And at the risk of an actress of my high caliber sounding cliché, it just hasn't been the same around here without you."

"Thanks, Martha," Beckett answered softly, smiling up at her as the two of them finally pulled apart. Returning the smile, Martha gave her hand a brief, affectionate pat before stepping back from the bed, her eyes, like all others in the room, turning expectantly towards her son.

The room suddenly seemed to fall into complete silence as he slowly approached the bed, as if every occupant were suddenly holding their breath. Beckett was certainly holding hers, her eyes locked unwaveringly on his, trying vainly to read his indecipherable gaze. They were so focused upon each other that neither ever noticed that everyone else present had suddenly found somewhere else to look, tactfully averting their gaze.

A moment later, he was beside her, and she wasn't sure who reached for whom, but the next thing she knew her hand was in his, his grip warm and gentle.

"Hey, Partner," she said softly, sending him a small, tentative smile, her hand squeezing his slightly.

He gave her a small smile back, but it was not the Castle smile she knew, just a slight curving of the lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.

This was not at all what she'd expected. She'd expected to see her usual goofy Castle, bouncing in like a kid on Christmas morning and making them all laugh with his antics, spouting innuendo about her thin hospital gown and just generally driving her crazy; in other words, just being _Castle. _

Something was wrong. It had to be. This Castle– this somber, silent Castle with the hollow eyes and the loose grip– was all wrong, and it worried her. Tilting her head slightly, she let her smile fade, her eyes holding his so he could see the question in her gaze.

_Are you okay?_

For a moment he simply stared back, the dark circles beneath his eyes making his irises seem even bluer. Gripping his hand a little tighter, she lifted her eyebrows just a fraction, watching him closely as his expression softened just slightly, his head inclining in a small nod. For a fleeting moment his hand tightened fractionally around hers, giving it the tiniest squeeze, before he simply let go and stepped back, widening the space between them. Reluctantly letting her hand fall to the bed, Beckett could do nothing but stare at him in confusion and even a little hurt, completely taken aback by his inexplicable, uncharacteristic behavior.

At that moment Lanie cleared her throat loudly, causing Beckett to jolt slightly– she'd been so focused upon Castle that she'd completely forgotten the others were even present– before her best friend spoke up, breaking the tense, awkward silence that had fallen over the room.

"Beckett, honey, so you gonna start opening all this fan mail or what? I swear you have more 'Get Well' cards piled right here than all the rest of the patients in the entire hospital combined."

He voice was light, teasing, but Beckett knew she'd deliberately made the comment as a means of distracting everyone's attention from what had just passed. Tearing her eyes from Castle's, Beckett looked around to meet Lanie's gaze, seeing understanding in her friend's dark eyes.

Over Lanie's shoulder she caught sight of her father, his eyes on Castle with a mixture of concern and some other emotion, one that seemed almost like... _sympathy_? Her confusion growing, Beckett was once more struck by the unshakeable feeling that there was something _more_ going on here, something serious and vitally important.

So what weren't they telling her? And why?

Taking a deep breath, she forcefully pushed both her confusion and her worry for Castle aside, faking a grin as she met Lanie's eyes once more.

"Quit exaggerating, Lanie. There's only like five cards."

"Pfft. There's at least fifteen," Lanie countered, shuffling through the pile. "Ooh, read this one first, it has glitter."

"Oh, that's mine!" Alexis exclaimed, then hesitated, looking suddenly sheepish. "I'm really sorry about all the glitter… I just wanted to make it pretty, but I think that maybe I might have gone a little overboard."

Looking down at the beautiful, handmade card, Beckett shook her head, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat.

"No, it's perfect," she said quietly, then looked up at the girl, her smile genuine. "Thanks, Alexis. I love it."

Alexis blushed, beaming. "You're welcome."

Ever adept in any social situation, Lanie quickly made a game of it, having everyone guess the sender of each card as Beckett opened them– Ryan proving to be a particularly proficient guesser, which in turn led to Esposito's belligerent claim that he must have seen the cards previously and should therefore be disqualified– and within minutes the atmosphere in the room had once more regained its casual, joking mood, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.

But something had. Castle was clearly not himself, and no matter how hard she tried to put it out of her mind, Beckett simply couldn't ignore it; just as she couldn't ignore the fact that he watched her, his piercing blue gaze unwavering and unfathomable.

And yet he never approached, never even attempted to speak with her or catch her eye. He simply stood with his back against the wall, letting the flow of the others' conversation wash around him, rarely making any sort of contribution himself– usually only in the form of a word or two, and even then, only in response to a direct question– all the while never taking his eyes off her, as if he believed that to look away even for a moment would cause her to disappear.

Contrasting drastically with his intent stare, his silence only proved more confusing; keeping her constantly distracted and wondering, it consumed her, making it difficult to concentrate upon anything else. However, when Lanie had to repeat a question three times– her voice growing fractionally less patient each time– Beckett knew she had to focus, to get herself firmly under control. Determinedly forcing herself to pull it together, she resolutely pushed her concern over Castle to the back of her mind, to be dealt with later when she was alone and able to think.

Slowly, the morning passed, and yet still her visitors remained. At any given moment there was always at least one person right beside her, providing entertainment and company, while the others mingled and chatted amongst themselves, filling the room with talk and laughter.

Seeing them all here, her loyal– if somewhat unconventional– extended family, Beckett couldn't help but smile. Looking around at them all, she suddenly recalled Esposito's words from the day Castle had defused the bomb– saving not only both their lives, but the lives of countless others– and how he had told them that they didn't know how truly lucky they were.

She remembered how Castle had looked up at her then, the warmth in his eyes so completely different from his current haunting gaze. But despite his strange, distant behavior, the truth still remained that, no matter what had happened, no matter what it was that was troubling him, he was still _here_.

And as she sat there, alive and surrounded by the people she loved, she was beginning to realize just how lucky she was.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, so I'm going to go right ahead and guess that this was not exactly the reunion that you guys had pictured. I'm well aware that it may have been somewhat of an anticlimax, but, like I said just a chapter or two ago- every decision I've made, I've made for a reason. I'm just hoping those reasons will become clear in the end.<br>__Anyways, that said, I really would still like to hear what your thoughts and reactions were to this chapter (be they positive _or_ negative). Personally, I feel like this chapter needs improvement (yes, I usually think that about every chapter, but I think it even more about this one) and well, feedback is the best way to figure out how to do that, so if you feel so inclined, drop me a comment or two and let me know your thoughts._

_Anywho, I think I'm going to try to keep this a short(ish) author's note for once. In which case, I'm just going to say a big thank you to all my wonderful crack dealers (if that statement sounds odd to you, please revisit my A/N from last chapter lol) and I shall see you all in a few days for the next installment..._


	7. Hurting

_Hey there readers! Here we go with chapter 7 :)_

_Enjoy._

* * *

><p>She could still feel his eyes upon her.<p>

In the few years they'd known each other, watching her had always been one of his favourite pastimes– a fact she'd outwardly pretended to ignore, but deep down, had secretly always enjoyed just a little– but it had never, _ever_ been like this.

All morning, the mystery of it had both baffled and consumed her, constantly occupying a space in the back of her mind. Despite allowing herself only the occasional fleeting glance in his direction, she couldn't resist surreptitiously observing him from the corner of her eye as she casually chatted and joked and laughed with the others, silently trying to puzzle it out.

It was approaching midday when a harried-looking nurse had bustled through the door, taking in the occupants of the room with a quick, appraising look before stating politely but firmly that they would all have to leave. Before they could question or argue, she spoke again, her voice stern and uncompromising as she insisted that Beckett needed time alone to rest and recover, then softening a little as she added that they could all return at 2pm to see her once more.

The announcement had been met with much grumbling from Lanie and the boys; resigned looks from her father, Martha and Alexis; and from Castle, no outward reaction at all, although his eyes had suddenly seemed darker, the creases on his forehead just a little deeper.

His behavior made no sense, no matter which way she'd thought about it– and though she was supposed to be resting, she'd spent a vast portion of her mandatory two hours of solitude thinking about it– and frankly, it worried her. Never had he been this distant towards her, not even back when she'd been with Tom, and she couldn't help feeling a little frightened of what it meant.

Then, after agonizing over it for almost the entire two hours, running though every possibility in her mind, it had finally hit her.

And in that moment, she finally knew the truth.

Castle was getting ready to walk away.

The realization was like an iron band wrapping around her chest, making her lungs constrict painfully, leaving her stunned and breathless. Her eyes began to water as the dull background ache of her bullet wound was suddenly overshadowed by a much sharper pain in her chest, one that stabbed deeper with every breath, hurting in a way that even her powerful cocktail of pain meds could do nothing to ease.

Gasping in several ragged, painful breaths, Beckett fought back the panic that was rising within her, threatening to take over. In a corner of her mind, the more pragmatic side of her personality declared that her reaction was foolish and irrational, and that she needed to get a grip on herself. Latching onto that thought, Beckett forcefully brought herself back under control once more, stubbornly willing her breathing to steady and her heart rate to calm.

When at last she could think clearly once more, she forced herself to think it through, analysing the clues just like she would for a case, using what she knew and what she'd observed to form a conclusion.

The distance, the silence, the nagging feeling that the others all knew some secret that she didn't; it all lined up. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Beckett faced the unavoidable, undeniable fact.

Richard Castle was no longer her partner.

And she couldn't blame him. She'd placed his life in danger more times than she could ever count, almost getting him shot, beaten, frozen to death, or even blown up– and though he'd always casually waved it off as being no big deal, she knew that this time was different. This time it _was _a big deal.

Because this time, she had brought a killer right into their own backyard. This time, she had not only endangered _his_ life, but the lives of his family, the only two people in the world that he truly cared about.

Of course he was going to leave. It was completely rational, the only truly advisable thing to do in order to protect his family. She knew he had valued their partnership, and had even considered her a close friend, but her obsession with her mother's case had pushed the boundaries, risked too much, and now he was throwing in his cards. He was going to cut his losses and run, while he still could.

She was simply too dangerous, and she understood that.

But that didn't stop it hurting. It had taken her some time, but eventually she'd believed that when he'd told her 'always' he'd truly meant it– because _she_ had, when she'd finally allowed herself to say it back– and though she understood why he now had to break that promise, it didn't make it any easier to bear.

And so, with Royce's words of warning echoing hauntingly in her ears, she'd simply closed her eyes and let the tears fall; hot, silent tears of loss and hurt and regret, leaving cold, moist tracks upon her cheeks as she'd mourned the foolish dream that had been herself and Castle.

###

Of course, when the knock had come at her door at precisely 2pm, she'd employed all of her acting skills to ensure she appeared completely normal, her eyes dry and a welcoming smile upon her lips. Warmly greeting the procession that trooped through her door, Beckett was surprised but pleased to see Martha and Alexis once more amongst them, both giving her wide, genuine smiles.

No wonder Castle had looked so grave earlier; at some point he was going to have to tell them that they wouldn't be seeing her anymore, and no doubt they would demand to know why. Despite her own hurt, she felt a small stab of sympathy for him; she knew that Alexis, especially, wouldn't understand that what he was doing was for their own good.

As she had that thought, Castle himself stepped into the room, once again the very last of the group to enter. Biting the inside of her lip, she lifted her eyes to his, hoping that he would see that she knew now what he had to do, and that she understood. For a brief moment their eyes locked, and he gave her the smallest smile and nod, even that tiny sign of acknowledgement causing her breath to catch in her throat, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

Scarcely managing a small nod in response, Beckett dropped her gaze, then swiftly recollected herself before lifting her eyes once more to smile at her other visitors, her steady hazel eyes betraying none of the anguish she felt inside.

Her father was the first to step forward, giving her a smile and a kiss on the cheek before moving back to make room for Lanie, whose dark eyes were flicking back and forth between her and Castle, her expression curious. Looking up at her, Beckett sent her a slightly pleading look, praying that her best friend would at least be tactful enough to wait until everyone else was distracted before she launched the inquisition that was undoubtedly imminent.

She needn't have worried, however; with an understanding look, Lanie simply took her hand and gave it a small squeeze, before immediately embarking on a completely casual, easy conversation about the brand new type of burger she and the boys had eaten at Remy's for lunch, and how all the staff had wanted to send her one as a get-well gift.

"I would have taken them up on it if I'd really though that we would be able to get it all the way here without one of _those_ two–" she jerked her head towards Ryan and Esposito, who were again chatting casually with her father, "–devouring it."

Grinning, Beckett allowed herself to relax, letting Lanie direct the flow of conversation so that she was mostly able to just sit and listen, only occasionally answering a question or contributing a comment or two as the time passed. And though she determinedly kept her attention focused on Lanie, from the corner of her eye she could just catch a glimpse of Castle, standing tall and silent beside her father on the other side of the room.

That in itself was one of the things that had surprised her most since she'd woken; the mystery of her father's reaction to Castle.

Mere minutes after Castle had entered the room that morning, her dad had quietly crossed the floor to stand beside him, even placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder as they spoke softly to one another in tones too low for her to hear. Even in her brief glances she had seen the worry in her father's eyes as he'd looked at Castle, his gaze holding a depth of concern and caring and familiarity that had surprised and confused her; after all, until the day of the funeral they had been total strangers, two men who had heard a great deal about each other but never actually met.

Even now, hours later, Castle and her father were once again side by side, standing with Martha and Ryan just a few feet from the end of the bed. Esposito had joined Lanie by her bedside just a few minutes ago, the two of them chatting and keeping her company whilst also bickering incessantly amongst themselves. Even Alexis was still here, quietly doing homework in a corner after having pulled out her books with an apologetic look at Beckett.

And so the afternoon flowed on, everyone chatting and joking together, the occasional extra friend or co-worker dropping in for a quick visit to say hello and wish her well. But no matter how many came or went, her 'family' always remained, the seven of them providing constant company and conversation, a fact for which Beckett was immensely grateful.

And yet, at the same time, their presence had its downfall; with all of them constantly in the room, there was simply no way she could find an opportunity to speak privately with Castle, as she so desperately wanted– _needed_– to do.

She needed him to know that she'd forgiven him for what he had to do, but even more, she needed to know that he had forgiven her for all that _she_ had done. And though she tried hard not to acknowledge it, she knew that deep down, she still held onto the tiny, vain flicker of hope that maybe– just maybe– she had been wrong, and that maybe he _had_ meant always, after all.

At one point, when everyone's attention was suitably diverted for the moment, Beckett allowed herself to sneak a quick glance at him, studying him silently. She'd noticed as soon as he'd re-entered the room that he looked different now to how he had this morning; during the two hours' break he'd clearly been home to shower and change, and was now once more dressed in his usual crisp shirt and jacket, his hair neat and his face clean-shaven. But not even the familiar attire could mask the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that he was noticeably thinner, the angles of his face sharper than she remembered.

As if sensing her eyes upon him, Castle suddenly looked up, his gaze meeting and holding hers. Swallowing slightly, she steeled herself, then tilted her head just a fraction to the side; a silent invitation. For a brief moment he simply looked back at her, his blue eyes unreadable, and then to her relief he gave a tiny nod, taking a small step closer.

Before he could take another, however, there was a curt knock at the door, followed almost immediately by the click of the catch as the door opened.

Seeing the small crowd already filling the room, Josh hesitated for a split second upon the threshold before summoning up an easy smile, giving them all a brief nod.

"Hey, guys," he said casually, stepping past Castle to cross the room to her bed. Her other visitors all gave polite greetings in response– all except Castle, who silently retreated to his previous position by the wall, his expression once again carefully blank, completely devoid of any emotion.

Swiftly hiding her frustration and disappointment, Beckett once again forced a welcoming smile.

"Hey, Josh," she greeted, deliberately injecting warmth into her voice as he stepped close to the bed, taking her hand. Quietly both Lanie and Esposito moved away from the bed to join the others on the other side of the room, giving she and Josh some space.

"Hey there, Sweetie," he said warmly, squeezing her hand. "How's your day been?"

Sending a glance around at the others in the room, Beckett's smile grew more genuine, then faltered just slightly as her eyes fell on Castle. Swiftly looking away, Beckett returned her gaze to Josh.

How had her day been? Devastating. Shattering. Heartbreaking. "Good. It's been good."

"That's great," was his smiling response, before he added apologetically, "And I'm sorry I'm just getting here now, I know visiting hours are about to end, but I've been totally run off my feet all day. Really, it's been crazy."

Beckett smiled, shaking her head slightly. "No, that's okay. You've got patients to treat, lives to save, that kind of thing."

Josh chuckled. "That's true. Actually, this afternoon I had a guy go into ventricular fibrillation while I had my hand in his chest– god, it's such the weirdest feeling, like the heart is a bag full of hyperactive worms or something. But it's okay, I got my hand out of there and we performed defib straight away, so his rhythm normalized pretty quick. Really, he was extremely lucky it happened while he was on the table and not out on the street– V-fib can kill in a matter of minutes. He's on all the proper treatment now, though, so he should be just fine."

"That's amazing, Josh, really," Beckett responded, attempting to sound interested and attentive while using all of her self-control to keep her eyes from straying in Castle's direction.

Just at that moment, there was a brisk knock at the door, which then opened to reveal a tall male orderly, his broad frame filling the doorway.

"I'm sorry, but visiting hours are now over," he stated, his tone allowing for no argument. "I'm going to have to ask you all to leave."

Glancing over, Beckett noticed the orderly focus specifically on Castle, folding his arms across his chest and fixing him with a stern look. Lifting an eyebrow in confusion, she looked around at the others, none of whom appeared to find the orderly's behaviour even the least bit odd.

Seeming to accept that they wouldn't be able to stay any longer, her visitors began heading towards the door, calling warm goodbyes to her and cheerfully assuring her that they would be visiting her at home tomorrow. After a few moments, the room was significantly emptier; aside from the orderly, only her father, Josh and Castle remained.

Approaching the bed, her father leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek, his hand gripping her shoulder gently.

"I'll be back in the morning to take you home, Kiddo."

"Thanks, Dad," she answered, smiling up at him. "Goodnight."

As her father walked away, Josh squeezed her hand. "I guess I'd better run now too. Night, Kate."

Her eyes had still been on her father, who had paused to rest his hand briefly on Castle's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before following the others out the door. Now, hearing Josh's words, Beckett blinked, and focused.

"Oh… night."

Flashing her a quick smile, he crossed the room to the door, which Castle had also just reached. Both men paused for the briefest moment, before Castle took a slight step back, politely gesturing for Josh to pass ahead of him.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Josh took a step further, and immediately Castle turned to follow.

Her eyes on them both, Beckett couldn't help but be struck by the feeling that this whole situation was simply wrong. Too wrong. She'd let it go on far too long, and no matter what the consequences might be, she knew that she had to do something about it, right now.

"Wait," she called abruptly, and as one the two men turned back to face her. Swiftly glancing from one to the other, Beckett made a rapid decision, hoping desperately that it was the right one.

Swallowing slightly, she focused her gaze on Josh, silently praying that Castle would understand.

"Josh, could you stay a little longer? Please?"

Though she was still focused on Josh, she saw Castle turn away, but not before she saw the grim, pained expression he wore. Wordlessly he exited the room, leaving a surprised Josh behind him.

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Beckett struggled to maintain composure. With Castle's abrupt exit, breathing had suddenly become difficult, a sharp knife of pain lodged deep somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. Blinking rapidly, she watched as Josh hesitated on the threshold, sending a glance in the direction of the orderly.

Giving a brief nod, the orderly stated, "Just a few minutes though, Dr Davidson. The patient needs to rest."

After another split second of hesitation, Josh gave her a quick smile. "Of course I'll stay, Babe."

Crossing back over to her bedside, he gripped the bedrails in his large hands, his dark eyes caring but slightly questioning as he looked down at her. For a moment Beckett was silent, watching the orderly leave the room, before she took a deep breath.

"I wanted to ask you about your trip to Chile." If she remembered right, he was due to fly out in a week, another three month trip.

"Oh, Katie, we don't have to worry about that right now–"

Beckett cut him off, her voice gentle, but firm. "I want you to go."

Josh paused, looking down at her, and she could see comprehension slowly beginning to dawn upon his handsome face.

"And when I come back…?" he asked quietly, his voice low.

Beckett sighed. "I'm sorry, Josh."

For a moment, neither of them even moved. Then, lifting her gaze slightly, she watched as he slowly lowered himself into the chair beside her bed, his head drooping, his eyes focused on his hands, which were clasped loosely in his lap.

For several moments there was silence, before he slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, dark with sadness and resignation.

"There's no fighting it, is there?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head, and he exhaled heavily, giving a slow, resigned nod.

"I understand."

"I really am sorry, Josh," she said quietly, then paused. She didn't want to hurt him further, but she didn't want to drag it out, either. Taking a deep breath, she added, "Is there… is there anything at my apartment you need to get? I'm sure Mary would let you in."

"Doubt it, she never liked me," Josh answered, lifting his head to give her a small, wry smile. Then he sighed. "But it doesn't matter, anyway. There's nothing of mine there."

For a moment his words hung in the silence, both of them acknowledging how true they really were. Giving her another small, sad smile, Josh stood, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'm glad you're okay, Kate."

Watching him walk away, Beckett blinked rapidly, holding back tears of sadness, guilt and regret.

"Thank you, Josh. I mean it."

Pausing at the doorway, Josh looked back at her for a moment. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away, closing the door behind him.

Left all alone in the stark white room, Beckett bit her lip, feeling the familiar burn of tears against the back of her eyelids.

Tears for the man she'd had, but had let go; and tears for the man she'd never really had, but had still lost.

And, for the second time that day, Kate Beckett simply closed her eyes and let the tears come.

* * *

><p><em>Well, there it was. Bet you thought we were done with the angst-fest by now, hey? Nope. I felt it was only fair that Beckett have her share of the angstyness, after all Castle has been through in the past several chapters... and yes, I know you guys wanted to see them have a nice heartfelt one-on-one, but we all know that when it comes to the Caskett relationship, nothing happens as quickly or as easily as you want it to (man, do we know THAT fact well or what?). But anyway, patience, my young padawans. Simply trust in the Force...<em>

_And hey, at least I disposed of the shipper irritant, right? I totally count that as points in my favour lol._

_Anywho, I'm just gonna say right now that it is insanely difficult to write Beckett (our super calm and collected, play-the-feelings-close-to-the-vest Beckett) practically pining over Castle, and to attempt to keep her in character whilst doing it. So, if you think I went over the top or if any particular part was just a little (or totally) off, don't hesitate to send me an abusive message telling me how terrible my characterization is. Or, you know, a polite suggestion for improvement would work too lol._

_So anyways, as always thank you so much to all my fantastic crack dealers (I know the nickname is probably getting old by now, but it still greatly amuses me, so I'm going to keep using it indefinitely lol), and also a big thanks to everyone who has simply taken the time to give this story a read :) _

_Well, until next time, kids._

_-Laura_


	8. Healing

_Hey, my lovely padawans. First up I want to give you guys a big apology that this update took such a ridiculously long time– consider it a combination of the hugeness of this chapter (8,000 words, in case you were wondering), a mild case of writer's block/procrastination, and a few days spent out on a farm with no access to a computer, all things that have contributed to my terrible lack of productivity during this past week and a half. I did however get a lot of motorbike riding done out on the farm (yes, I'm a med student that rides motorcycles, but don't you dare start calling me Doctor Motorcycle Girl lol) which was most enjoyable, in any case._

_Anywho, I'm going to assume you've all noticed the chapter title (or if you hadn't, you've immediately looked at it just now) so you might be able to guess that the tone of the fic is finally starting to change. So, as fun as it has been to torture you all with the overflowing buckets of angst (yeah, yeah, I'm evil, I know), my sadistic fun has now (mostly) come to an end. I'm not saying it's all sunshine and rainbows just yet, but... well, you'll see._

_So anyway, that's more than enough from me. _

_Enjoy._

* * *

><p>It didn't feel like nine days.<p>

Nine days since she had last stood upon the doorstep of her apartment building, not knowing then just how close she would come to losing her life. And not knowing then that there were some things that she _would _lose.

Nine days.

At times, it seemed more like she'd been gone for weeks or months; at others, like barely more than a few hours. It was strange to think, really, just how much had changed in that time. _She _had changed. She had woken to find her world turned upside down, and with that the knowledge that it would likely never right itself again.

But she would adjust. She'd done it once before, following the night that had blown that gaping hole straight through her naive little life. It had left her with a scar, one that would never fully heal, but still, she had survived.

She had survived losing her mother, and no matter how raw it felt now, she would certainly survive 'losing' her partner. Unlike her mother's scar, the scar Castle had given her would heal soon enough.

"Katie? You ready to head on up?"

Beckett jumped slightly at the sound of her father's voice right beside her, then blinked rapidly, hastily rousing herself from her grave thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Sorry, I was just thinking," she explained distractedly, then shook her head slightly, forcing herself to focus. "But never mind, I'm ready to go. Do you want my help to bring anything up?"

Her father's reply was bland. "Nope."

Frowning, Beckett immediately opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke first, cutting her off.

"And before you get huffy and start insisting you're fine and perfectly capable of carrying things, I'm not saying that you're not capable. There's just nothing else to bring in."

Pausing, Beckett closed her mouth, feeling slightly embarrassed as she realized that he had a point. The small duffel bag hooked over his shoulder had been more than enough to carry all of her belongings from the hospital, most of the space inside occupied by the cards and gifts she'd received.

Of course, Raley and Ochoa were in there too, the two uniformed bears tucked safely in with her own uniform– or at least, with her hat, shoes, and dress-pants. The bloodstained, bullet-punctured shirt was undoubtedly long since disposed of; as far as she knew, they'd cut it off her as soon as she'd arrived at the hospital. She wouldn't miss it.

"Ah, well, right," Beckett said finally, a flush creeping up her cheeks as her father gave her that small, teasing smile that made her feel twelve years old all over again. Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, she settled for a wry smile instead.

"So, got the keys?"

"Well, yes and no," her father replied, pulling a single key from his pocket as he explained, "I don't have the keys, but I have _a _key. This one is for the apartment, but I don't actually have one for the front door."

Beckett frowned slightly, confused. "What? Dad, what happened to my keys?"

Her father shrugged. "Esposito took your keys when he and Ryan brought your car home from the cemetery. I was given your spare apartment key when I came for your clothes this morning, but I was told I didn't need one for the front door."

"Oh. Well, technically we don't," Beckett answered slowly, still feeling slightly puzzled as she stepped forward, reaching for the special residents' buzzer concealed beside the door. As she pressed down on the smooth plastic, she remembered a similar moment just a few short weeks ago, when she'd shown Castle the very same button.

She'd thought then… well, she didn't really know what she'd thought. But it didn't matter now anyway, because Castle had made it pretty clear that he did not intend to be visiting her home often.

If ever again.

Swallowing the sudden flare of pain in her chest that had absolutely nothing to do with her bullet wound, Beckett held the door open for her father, then fell in step beside him, the two of them crossing the foyer together.

The ride to her floor was quiet, both of them occupied by their own thoughts. As they'd stepped into the elevator, a sudden thought had occurred to Beckett, and now she searched her memory, unconsciously biting her lip as she tried to figure if Castle had left anything of his at her apartment, and then wondering what she would do with it if he had. Perhaps take it to the station, so he could collect it from there… or maybe she could give it to Ryan or Esposito instead, to return to him at their next poker match or boy's night at the Haunt…

Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Beckett mentally shook herself out of it, chiding herself on being so ridiculous. She was acting as if she and Castle had broken up; just because they were no longer partners, that didn't mean they wouldn't ever see each other anymore, or that they wouldn't still be friends. After all, she told herself, that's all they had ever been– simply good friends, coworkers, but nothing more.

Admittedly, there had always been just the smallest crush– a remnant of a time long before they had actually met– but he had always been, first and foremost, simply her friend. And despite that they were friends, she couldn't say that she hadn't known this day was coming. She'd known since the beginning that, sooner or later, their little friendship/partnership/whatever would die a natural, inevitable death and he would leave, moving on to a newer, shinier source of interest and excitement. Granted, that day had come much further towards the 'later' side than she'd expected, but the fact still remained that it _had_ come, just as she'd always known it would.

As the doors opened and they stepped out, Beckett pushed all thoughts of Castle away, searching instead for a different, lighter topic. Suddenly remembering something, she spoke up, turning slightly to look at her father as they walked together down her hallway.

"Dad, I meant to thank you earlier for coming to get my clothes. It means a lot," she said, her tone genuinely grateful, and she could tell by his acknowledging nod and understanding look that he knew she meant it.

Although dressing was no longer an entirely simple nor painless task, it had felt good to be back in her own clothes again, like she had taken the first step to reclaiming her usual self. And though she had no idea how he'd done it– knowing his abysmal dress-sense, she was betting on pure fluke– he had somehow managed to bring her some of her very favorite clothes.

Not only had he chosen the dark, tight, yet incredibly comfortable jeans that she loved, the ones that Castle could never seem to take his eyes off of– if she were entirely honest with herself, his admiration and complete lack of subtlety in showing it was just one of the many things she would miss about him– but her father had also somehow picked out her very favorite shirt, a purple plaid Burberry that she knew had been Castle's favorite as well. Add to that a pair of her nicest flats– an addition that she felt was probably equally due to her father attempting to be practical as well as his complete bafflement surrounding the mystery of heels– and her warmest, comfiest, yet still stylish jacket, and all in all her father had put together pretty much the exact outfit that she herself would have chosen.

"Actually, Dad," she began after a few moments, feeling suddenly curious as she continued, "Knowing your complete lack of fashion sense, I'm pretty impressed how well you did with the outfit. Clearly, you're improving from your socks-and-sandals days."

Her father chuckled quietly, slowing his step as they approached her door. "Thanks, Kiddo, but my fashion sense is still just as terrible as it always was. I didn't choose the outfit."

"Then who–" Beckett began, then suddenly halted mid-stride, staring.

"Dad, what happened to my door?" she asked slowly, her eyebrows drawing together in surprise and confusion as her eyes took in the unfamiliar sight, one that was very different to how it had looked when she'd left the apartment nine days ago.

Looking over his shoulder at her as he pushed the key into the lock, her father gave her a slightly guarded look.

"Well, Katie, there have been a few… alterations… while you've been gone."'

"_Alterations?" _Beckett asked incredulously, following close behind him as he stepped inside, flicking on the light switch. Moving further into the apartment, her father placed the duffel bag down on the dining table, at the center of which stood a huge vase holding a bouquet of her very favorite flowers, which explained the sweet, flowery scent she'd already noticed filling the apartment.

"Dad, what _kind_ of alterations?" she asked, her eyes roaming the familiar– although unnaturally clean and tidy– space as he stepped back past her to close the heavy metal door that was definitely not hers, sliding bolts and engaging multiple locks that were definitely not hers either.

Turning around, her father met her eyes, his expression understanding, but completely unapologetic. Reaching her side, he tipped his head towards the door.

"Reinforced," he said evenly, before turning to nod in the direction of the windows. "Bulletproof."

Then, using his free hand to gesture around the space, he added, "Alarm system, camera, that sort of thing."

Blinking in shock, Beckett drew in a sharp breath. "Dad, what–"

Gently cutting her off, he explained in a careful tone, "Look, I know how you feel about privacy, Katie, and we've respected that as much as we could, but honestly Rick and I felt that the most important thing was to ensure that you were as safe as we could possibly make you."

At his words, Beckett froze, feeling as if she'd just suddenly had the wind knocked out of her. For a few moments she could do nothing but stare at her father in silent shock before her lungs finally remembered how to function, and she sucked in a fast, ragged breath.

Running a hand through her hair, she swallowed hard, her chaotic thoughts causing her response to emerge as a fragmented, ineloquent string of words.

"Did you just... what do you… _Castle_ was involved in this?"

Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, her father gave her a small smile. "Kiddo, _all _of this was Rick's doing. Really, my contribution barely extended beyond simply giving my permission."

Seemingly noticing her shock and confusion, her father squeezed her shoulder gently, his eyes kind.

"Look, Katie, how about you go unpack your things and settle back in while I make us both a cup of coffee?"

Speechless, Beckett simply nodded vaguely, barely registering the small, encouraging smile he gave her before releasing her shoulder and moving away towards the kitchen. Blinking a few times, and still trying to figure out what the hell this all meant, Beckett took a few unsteady steps towards the dining table, then suddenly paused.

"Hey, Dad?" she called, turning toward the kitchen before continuing shakily, "Could you make mine a tea instead? I just… I don't think I can handle coffee right now."

"Sure, Sweetie," he called out in response, without looking up from the kettle that he was already filling in the sink.

Taking a deep breath, Beckett turned back around, crossing the last few feet of floor to grab the bag from the table. Maybe once she was alone in the quiet, comforting surrounds of her bedroom she would finally be able to get the thoughts to slow down just enough to enable her to think clearly, to try to figure this whole thing out.

She was so distracted by her jumbled thoughts that she almost missed it entirely. It was only just as she turned to walk away, the bag already hooked over her shoulder, that the unfamiliar object lying upon the dining table finally registered within her brain, and suddenly she stopped, slowly turning around to fix her eyes upon it.

Gently lowering the duffel to the ground, Beckett reached for the thick, neatly-stapled sheaf of papers, then abruptly drew her hand back, as if her touch might somehow cause the mysterious papers to suddenly burst into flame.

"Dad?" She called, just a trace of alarm in her tone. "Dad, what is this?"

But she already knew. It was impossible not to. The answer was right there, printed clearly upon the first page. She just didn't know how to believe it.

As she continued to stare blindly at the page, her father came up to stand quietly beside her, wiping his damp hands on a tea towel.

"I think you know that answer already, Kiddo."

"But– Dad, I don't–" she began, growing increasingly flustered as a myriad of tangled thoughts ran through her mind. Then, running a shaking hand through her hair, she dragged in an uneven breath and forced herself to voice the words out loud, her tone shocked and disbelieving.

"Castle _bought_ my _apartment_?"

Her father slung the tea towel over his shoulder, then gave a slight shrug.

"Well, there was going to be a lot of paperwork and organization involved with making all the necessary changes to the place, and your landlady didn't want the added responsibility, so this was deemed the best solution. Again, I should point out that it was done with my complete permission."

His explanation was given in a quiet, completely reasonable tone, but Beckett barely heard the words. She was still reeling from the sudden change in direction that her situation had just taken; completely and utterly uncertain as to what the hell it meant, and just as importantly, where the hell she and Castle stood now, especially considering the fact that– whether he was still her partner or not– he was now, effectively, her landlord.

There had to be a mistake here somewhere. She'd thought earlier that him quitting their partnership had turned her world upside down– but now it seemed that instead he had put it into a crazy, uncontrollable spin, his actions only serving to confuse her further, leaving her with no answers and no idea which way was up.

Swallowing, she turned her shocked eyes to her father, searching desperately for those answers.

"He _owns_ my _home_?"

"Actually, when you sign here," he said calmly, flipping over the page and pointing to a section marked with a brightly-colored sticker, "You do."

Completely stunned, Beckett simply stood there with her eyes locked on the page, staring at it as if it would start giving her some actual answers if only she focused hard enough. After several silent moments, she opened her mouth wordlessly, then closed it and swallowed hard before attempting to speak once more, her voice hesitant, unsteady.

"But he… I thought… I don't understand," she said, then took a deep breath, her voice growing more insistent as she continued. "Dad, this is crazy. It makes no sense."

Her father lifted an eyebrow just slightly, his cool hazel eyes regarding her steadily. "Doesn't it?"

She didn't respond; she couldn't. She could only continue to stare silently down at the paper, wondering what the hell happened to the times when everything used to make sense, when she'd thought she had it all figured out. But deep down, she knew she didn't really have to wonder.

Because that was one answer that she _did_ know.

_Castle_ had happened. Castle had shown up in her life, and he hadn't just upset the applecart, he'd blown the whole thing to goddamn smithereens. And here she was, still running around desperately trying to pick up the pieces and pretend that she still had it all under control.

After a few moments of silence, her father seemed to realize she could give no answer, and gave a small, soft sigh.

Placing his hand once more on her shoulder, he said gently, "Come on, Kiddo, sit down. I think we have some things we need to talk about."

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Beckett followed him meekly to the couch, sinking into the seat and pulling a cushion into her lap. Her hands clenched in the soft fabric, she watched as her father pulled the tea towel from his shoulder and tossed it onto the coffee table before taking a seat in the armchair facing her.

Then, he fixed her with his steady gaze, took a deep breath, and began.

"The night before Roy died, I went to Rick's loft."

That immediately drew her full focus, and she frowned, her gaze sharpening as she looked up at him, her eyes full of confusion and questions.

"What? Why?"

"I went to him to ask for his help," was her father's simple answer, the words making her breath catch in her throat. Shaking his head just slightly, he continued, "I had already tried everything I could to stop you chasing your mother's killer, and it had made no difference, just as I knew it wouldn't. We both know that I stopped being able to tell you what to do a long time ago."

Clearing his throat, he went on. "So I went to Rick, because I knew that out of everyone, he was the one and only person who could possibly have a chance at getting through to you. I've seen your face when you talk about him, Katie. You listen to him, whether you want to or not. You _trust_ him, without thought or question or hesitation. As someone who once lost that trust, I know just how hard it can be to win back. Which is exactly why I asked his help, because he was– and still is– the only person that _I _trusted to do whatever it took to protect you."

Stunned, Beckett could only watch as her father paused, seemingly struggling for words. When he looked up to meet her eyes once more, she could see that his were moist, a fact that shocked her almost as much as anything else that had happened to her since she'd woken in hospital the morning before. Feeling her own eyes begin to prickle in response, she hastily blinked the tears away, forcing herself to focus as he continued.

"I begged him not to let you throw your life away, Katie. I begged him to make you see that there were things in your life worth living for, things that are simply more important than Johanna's death. I had hoped that he would be able to do what I couldn't; that he would be able to convince you to walk away, to finally allow yourself to be happy, like you could be. Like you deserve to be."

Beckett swallowed hard, forcing down the lump that was blocking her throat. "He tried. And I… God, Dad, the things I said to him… he was trying to protect me and I just pushed him away."

Dropping her gaze, she went on. "I just… I couldn't bear to hear those words coming from him. From anyone else, I could dismiss them, just put them out of my mind. But to hear them from him… no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't ignore them anymore, couldn't get his voice out of my head. So I told him to leave. I told him he was no longer my partner."

Looking up to meet her father's gaze, she felt the tears once more threatening to spill over. Giving him a small, sad smile, she once more dropped her eyes, her voice emerging as a tremulous half-whisper.

"I didn't realize then that that would end up being true."

There was silence for a moment before her father spoke, his tone low and slightly confused. "What do you mean, Katie?"

Beckett gave a short, quiet chuckle that sounded almost like a sob. "Dad, you saw him yesterday. He never said a word to me, barely even came within more than a few feet of the bed. I know him, know when he's struggling with something, and really, it doesn't take a detective to figure out what."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she continued slowly, with just the tiniest trace of anguish detectable beneath her words.

"My obsession with Mom's case put his whole family in danger, and if you know him at all, you know that there is nothing in the world more important to him than those two. He'd do anything to keep them safe, and I think we all know that the best way to do that is to stay far away from me."

"Lord, Katie, that's really what you think?" Her father's response was quiet, but sharp. Though she didn't lift her gaze, she sensed him shifting forward in his chair, his eyes fixed intently on her as he continued in a low, definite tone.

"After working side by side with him for three years, after saving each others' lives God knows how many times, you really think he's walking away now? I just don't see how you could truly believe that, Katie, I honestly don't. And even if we discount everything _else_ that he's done, the man just bought your apartment for you. Surely that tells you _something_."

Shaking her head, Beckett sighed, her hands gripping the cushion tightly. "Dad, you don't know Castle like I do. While I still can't believe that he _actually_ did it, I do know first-hand just how ridiculously generous he is– whatever you think it means, the apartment is probably just his version of a goodbye gift, nothing more."

Silence fell between them for a few moments before her father gave a long, heavy sigh, shaking his head just slightly as he looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

"Katie, ninety-nine percent of the time, you are the most perceptive person I've ever met. But Lord, when it comes to matters of the heart, you couldn't be blinder if you were in a dark room with a bag over your head."

Lifting her head, Beckett frowned. "Dad–"

"No, Katie," her father interrupted, his voice suddenly firm, his tone reminding her of how he'd spoken to her when she was little and had done something naughty. Fixing her with a steady look, he continued, "It's about time someone talked some sense into you, and while I was hoping that Lanie would be the one to take that particular job, I suppose it's up to me now."

Sighing softly, he looked down, speaking quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. "God, it's times like these that I wish even more that your mother were still here, because she certainly would have known how to put a stop to all this nonsense long ago."

Giving his head a small shake, he lifted his gaze to hers once more, taking a deep breath.

"Firstly, you're right. You do know Rick better than I do. But, that said, I've spent a lot of time with him over the past nine days, and I think that in some ways, there are some aspects of him that I have a far greater understanding of than you do."

He paused for a moment, and Beckett frowned, wondering at his meaning. Before she could ask, however, he spoke again.

"So, I need you to make this clear for me, Kiddo. You believe that the reason he's been distant towards you since you woke was because he's planning on quitting your partnership?"

"Yes," Beckett answered quietly, her voice sounding slightly hoarse from the flood of emotion that that simple question evoked. Clearing her throat, she added more firmly, "Come on, Dad. You were there the entire time yesterday– you know that he couldn't even _speak_ to me."

"Katie, he's barely spoken more than a handful of sentences to _anyone_ since Roy's funeral," her father answered, his voice low and utterly serious. Leaning forward in his chair and fixing her with an intense look, he went on.

"The man has just been through eight days of the very worst kind of hell, and after spending over a full week completely scared out of his mind, you have to understand that it can't be easy for him to adjust. You've got to give the guy some time to recover."

Apparently correctly interpreting her stunned expression, her father sighed once more, his voice quiet as he continued.

"He barely left your side, Katie. Ever. Every day he would be right there, right from the very minute visiting hours began, sitting at your bedside and holding your hand like he believed that if he just held on long enough he could pull you back. Other than getting food or going to the bathroom, he would only ever leave your room once each day, the time when Davidson would visit. Each time I could see just how much it cost Rick to walk away."

Her father paused for a moment, dropping his gaze to his hands as he went on. "I was there with him every day, Katie. I saw what those days of fear and grief did to him. I'd heard so much about Rick from you, but after the funeral I was seeing a very different man to the one you'd described. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever forget how he reacted that first night at the hospital, when visiting hours had just ended and an orderly came in, asking us all to leave."

Her father's gaze shifted, taking on a somewhat distant look as he remembered. Taking a slow breath, he went on.

"Ryan, Esposito and Lanie had left not long before then to head back to the precinct, so it was just Martha, Alexis, Rick and I. The girls and I accepted that it was time to go, but Rick, he simply couldn't do it. He tried everything– he asked politely, he charmed, he begged, he bribed– but the orderly wasn't giving in. I could see Rick getting more and more frustrated, and I know Martha could too, because she tried more than once to talk him into leaving, but he didn't even seem to hear."

Giving a soft sigh, her father shook his head. "In the end the orderly lost patience and threatened to call security, and by that time Rick was past his limit. I've never seen anyone so furious. He told the orderly to go ahead and call them, but he still wasn't leaving. He didn't shout, didn't even raise his voice. He just stared the orderly down, and though I was– and am– firmly on Rick's side, I had to commend the other man for his bravery. Not many people could have met those eyes without wavering, and certainly not many could have stood their ground against him, especially not when we could all practically _feel_ the barely-controlled fury that was radiating from him like heat."

Slowly lifting his eyes to meet hers, he continued, "I think we all knew it was going to end badly– after what had happened at the cemetery, I wouldn't be surprised if he had almost _wanted_ someone to lash out at– but no one knew how to calm him down. Martha tried to speak to him, but he simply held up a hand to silence her, without even turning his head in her direction. I took a step forward, meaning to put myself between him and the orderly– because if he was going to hit someone, I'd rather it were me than a man who was not only just trying to do his job, but who might also press charges– but then suddenly Alexis moved silently to his side, softly laying her hand on his arm. Finally, he looked away from the orderly to stare silently down at her, and for a moment I don't think Martha or I even breathed."

Swallowing slightly, her father gave her a tiny, sad smile. "And then he simply slumped, lowering his head as if all the fight had suddenly gone out of him. In an instant he went from being one of the most daunting figures I'd ever seen in my life to a lost, broken man who looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders."

Her father sighed softly once more, and for a fleeting moment she caught just a glimpse of an odd sadness in his eyes, before he blinked and it was gone. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger, steadier, and almost reproachful, exactly how he had used to sound when he was trying to make an important point.

"I don't think you understand what your shooting did to him, Katie, I truly don't. And as for him being distant, well, I think I can safely bet that the only reason he's not here right now is because he expects that Davidson is."

With that, her father sat back in his chair, tactfully keeping his eyes down as he gave her some time to process what he'd said. Completely overwhelmed by all she'd just heard, Beckett could do nothing but stare at him, scarcely able to breathe past the lump blocking her throat. Even trying to _think_ about the possible meanings associated with all he'd just told her sent her heart and mind into overdrive, enveloping her in a riot of thoughts and emotions that threatened to overpower her, leaving her barely able to form any kind of coherent thought.

When at last she could speak, she leaned forward and fixed her eyes on his, her voice low and raw as she forced the words from her mouth.

"Dad, what exactly are you trying to say?"

Her father met her eyes squarely, giving her a small, wry smile, before growing serious once more.

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything, Kiddo. What I _am_ saying is this. As a man who has lost the love of his life, I know the look of a man who truly believed he was going to lose his."

Seeing her shell-shocked expression, he reached out, placing his hand over hers. "I know this is hard for you, Katie. I know that you find it nearly impossible to lower your guards long enough to truly let anyone in. And I know that that's all my fault."

Frowning, Beckett shook her head emphatically, forcing herself to focus. "Dad, no–"

"Yes, it is," he responded firmly, his expression grim. "What happened to your mother taught you to shield yourself, but it was me that forged that armor around your heart. I was the only parent you had left, and I was supposed to be there for you, to support and protect you, always. But instead I abandoned you, swallowed by my own misery, leaving you to learn to rely only on yourself. Because of what I did, you learned that to let someone in was to give them the power to hurt you, and so you learned to build walls around your heart, walls so impenetrable that no one could ever stand a chance of breaking through."

Clearing his throat, he went on. "_I _caused that, Katie, and for that I will never, ever forgive myself. But even more so, I could never forgive myself if you let that fear– the fear of being hurt again, being abandoned again– if you let that fear ruin your chance at having the happiness that you deserve."

Squeezing her hand gently, he held her gaze with his, his eyes clear and steady and completely serious.

"You need to listen to me, Katie. You know that I've always believed that there's only one person out there for everyone. Your mother was my One, and ever since she died, I have lived every single day with the pain of losing her. I just don't want to see you live the rest of your life with that same pain because you found your One but then lost him because you were too afraid to let him in."

Unable to look away from his honest, unwavering gaze, Beckett opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she dragged in ragged , uneven breath, then tried again.

"Dad, I can't... I don't..." cutting herself off, she took another deep, steadying breath, then continued more firmly, "Dad, if it _is_ true, then I need to hear it from him."

Her father tilted his head just slightly to the side, regarding her with a contemplative look.

"Maybe the next step isn't his to take, Katie. Maybe it's up to you to be the one to tell the truth. You already trust him with your life– maybe it's finally time you trusted him with your heart."

Seeing her hesitant, uncertain expression, he gave her a small smile.

"Just think about it," he said gently, squeezing her hand once more. Then he lifted his eyebrows just slightly, adding, "But were I you, I'd think about it sooner rather than later. You and Rick are like two oppositely charged magnets– no matter how hard he's trying to keep a respectful distance, he's not going to be able to stay away for long."

Giving her hand a final squeeze, he stood abruptly, his whole demeanor suddenly becoming relaxed, casual, even the tiniest trace of a smile curving his lips as he looked down at her.

"Now, I think I'm going to make myself that cup of coffee. Would you still like some tea?"

" Uhm… yes, please," Beckett replied distractedly, still scrambling to collect her scattered thoughts. With a nod, her father picked up the tea towel from the coffee table, slinging it once more over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

Barely noticing him go, Beckett silently drew the cushion she still held in closer to her chest, closing her eyes and burying her face in its soft fabric as she concentrated on steadying herself, her breathing slow and deep. As her mind and heart continued to race with the possible ramifications of all he'd just said, she clutched the cushion tighter, knowing only one thing for sure.

No matter what happened, things could never go back to the way they were.

Willing her heart rate to calm, she drew in a long, deep breath, then suddenly froze, her lungs constricting with shock and disbelief. Her eyes snapped open, her breath escaping in an unsteady rush. With infinite slowness, she lifted the cushion slightly higher, pressing her nose to the fabric as she inhaled slowly and deeply.

There was no mistaking it. A faint scent lingered within the fabric, a scent she knew as well as she knew her own name.

_Castle._

Lowering the cushion, Beckett could do nothing but stare at it, her mind reeling. Castle had been here. Not only that– he'd slept here, choosing to stay on her too-short couch rather than being at home with his family, with the people he loved. She couldn't make any sense of it, couldn't connect it in her head with the distant, hollow-eyed version of himself that had convinced her that he was only waiting to say goodbye.

Not knowing what to think, she ran it all through her mind, her thoughts racing. And then all of a sudden, a piece of the puzzle abruptly fell into place, and she lifted her head, looking around the apartment with new eyes. The flowers, the cleanliness, even the clothes she was now wearing– it had all been him. With that thought came a flash of clarity, the whispered revelations of a dozen missed clues, things she had seen or heard since waking the morning before but had been too blinded by her own hurt to realize the true meaning and significance of.

And, like he so often was, her father had once again been right; she'd been sitting in a dark room with a bag over her head, but now that bag had been yanked off, the room flooded with light, and the revelation was like staring directly into the Sun.

Castle was not walking away. She knew that now. But even more than that, she finally knew something that she should have known long ago.

He'd said always… _and he'd meant it._

Choking back the sudden emotion that was blocking her throat, Beckett abruptly put the cushion aside and pushed herself up from the couch, standing there somewhat unsteadily as she tried to figure out what the hell she was going to do now, her shell-shocked gaze drifting around the apartment as if she would find some kind of divine answer in her neatly arranged belongings.

It was moments like this– not that she'd ever experienced a moment quite of this magnitude before, to be honest– that she missed her mother most, sorely wishing for that loving advice and comfort that she'd lived without for twelve long years.

At the thought of her mother, her mind immediately flashed to her murder board, her turbulent thoughts about Castle momentarily pushed aside by the sudden anxiety that gripped her, making her breath catch in her throat. Her father had said that all the glass in the apartment had been replaced– which included the window in the office, the one covered with every single piece of information she'd gathered relating to her mother's murder. What if the men that had come to replace the glass had seen it, or touched it? The murder board was her most private of secrets, one she'd shared with no one but Castle, and the idea of anyone else seeing it made her feel physically sick, her stomach clenching in panic.

With a quick, worried glance in the direction of the kitchen– where her father was thankfully still engaged in procuring himself a cup of coffee– Beckett headed into the office, trying to ignore the feeling of nausea that was building in her gut. Crossing the carpet, it took her less than a second to see the folded note taped to the shutters, less than three seconds before she had it in her trembling hands, hastily unfolding it to see the message written inside.

_Kate–_

_Don't worry. I took it all down before they got here to replace the glass._

_Also, check the top left desk drawer. _

–_C_

Reading the words that he'd written, and feeling the full impact of the sentiment behind them, Beckett felt the lump lodge once more in her throat, her breathing shallow as she refolded the note. Grasping the shutters, she opened them wide, feeling a flood of emotion as she saw all of her research displayed exactly as it had been, the only difference in the sight being the quality and thickness of the glass that lay behind it.

Swallowing hard, Beckett silently closed the shutters, then sat heavily in the chair at her desk, feeling the now-familiar burn of tears behind her eyes. Determinedly pulling herself together, she rubbed a hand over her face, feeling suddenly exhausted, not only physically, but mentally, emotionally.

After a few more moments of trying not to think about just what all of this meant– not so much in terms of Castle's feelings, which she was finally beginning to understand, but in terms of her own, which she had never understood, but had always slightly feared– she lifted her head, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. Then, she reached out, and slowly pulled open the top left drawer.

Inside lay a pile of pieces of paper, similar in size to the information cards that made up her murder board, and atop the pile rested another folded note. Picking it up, she looked down at the words, the writing again unmistakably Castle's.

_Kate–  
>I hope you don't mind that I did this. Feel free to not use any of it, but I just thought it would make things easier for you, having someone else shoulder some of the workload for once.<em>

_I hope I haven't overstepped, and if I have, I hope you'll forgive me._

–_C_

Swallowing slightly, Beckett silently placed the note down on the desk and reached into the drawer, pulling out the small pile of papers. She didn't have to read beyond the first one to know what they were; each handwritten card was an addition for her murder board, all of them neatly and precisely recounting new information they'd discovered pertaining to her mother's case.

Feeling her throat close over, Beckett carefully replaced the papers in the drawer, along with both notes, before pushing the drawer shut and letting her head drop into her hands.

Her breathing was unsteady, her heart racing, but for the first time in three years, her mind was suddenly completely clear.

Because now she knew. She finally knew the answer to the question she'd been afraid to ask herself for close to three whole years, the answer that she'd done everything she could to hide from.

But she couldn't hide any more. She couldn't hide from him, and now that she'd finally realized the truth, she could certainly no longer hide from herself. Because 'always' was not a sincere but nonetheless figurative statement anymore. It was reality.

Now that she knew it, she knew her father had been right. Even if Castle's feelings were as she believed them to be– a thought that terrified her now that she knew without a doubt that they were reciprocated by her own– he deserved to hear the truth from her first. She owed him that, just as she owed him so many things.

And soon, she would be ready to tell him everything.

At that exact moment, her thoughts were suddenly disturbed by a loud knock at the door. Instantly she was on her feet, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, her eyes wide with panic.

"I've got it!" she heard her father's voice call from the kitchen, and took a reflexive step back, her breathing quickening. She knew that she and Castle needed to talk soon, but she simply wasn't ready to face him yet, wasn't ready to share the feelings that she'd only just come to terms with herself.

Involuntarily, her eyes darted around the office, searching for an escape route that she knew didn't exist. Her mind was still scrambling for an answer when she heard her father speak once more, his voice raised in welcome.

"I knew you three would show up before too long," she heard him say warmly, before he suddenly spoke louder, calling out to her.

"Katie, you've got visitors!"

Taking a deep breath, Beckett steadied herself, suddenly feeling a lot calmer than she had just a few moments ago. Whether the 'three' her father had greeted were Lanie and the boys or Castle and his family, she knew she would be okay.

Feeling immensely relieved– but at the same time oddly disappointed– that she would not yet be having the one-on-one that she and Castle had been waiting for for almost three years, Beckett stepped out into the lounge-room, her smile growing into a grin as she saw the three members of her family waiting just inside the door.

"Yo, Beckett," Esposito called casually, his grin wolfish. "Miss us?"

"Eh, not really," she replied with a one-sided shrug, before giving them all a sly, teasing smile.

"Ouch, Beckett, say how you really feel next time," Ryan responded playfully, then lifted up a plastic bag he held, adding, "But, in that case– you see this delicious Remy's burger we brought you for lunch? I don't think you appreciate us enough to deserve it. I think maybe I'll save it, give it to Jenny's dog instead."

Halfway across the floor towards them, Beckett lifted an eyebrow, fixing Ryan with a wicked look. "Oh, yeah? You really think a bullet wound is gonna stop me from kicking your ass, Honey Milk?"

"Oh, she got you there, Bro," Esposito laughed, grinning at Ryan's pouting expression. Reaching them, Beckett allowed herself be pulled into Lanie's brief, gentle hug, before drawing back to exchange brisk nods of greeting with the boys, the simple gesture just as affectionate as Lanie's hug had been.

Grinning at the three of them, she beckoned them in.

"Hurry up and get your butts in here, guys. I haven't eaten _real_ food in nine whole days and those burgers smell absolutely amazing."

"We figured you might appreciate them," Lanie answered, giving her a knowing grin as the five of them settled down onto couches and armchairs, Esposito eagerly distributing burgers while the others joked and chatted. Looking around at them, Beckett found herself completely glad that they had been the ones to show up at her door. It was not that she didn't want to see Castle– to be honest, just the opposite– but she was glad to have a little time with her three best friends first.

She and Castle could certainly wait a little longer; after all, 'always' would begin soon enough.

* * *

><p><em>Well, there it was. I know this was a pretty long, intense chapter (man, Beckett's really going through every emotion in the book, isn't she?) and so I hope that the length kind of makes up for the fact that we still haven't had our Caskett one-on-one. But, all things in their time, my padawans. In matters of the heart, resolution comes only when the heart itself is ready– and Beckett just hadn't been ready. But oh boy, I will certainly be glad to have all of Beckett's emotional revelations over and done with. Trying to write her accurately while she's practically having a meltdown is goddamn exhausting!<em>

_But anyways, what did everyone think of Papa Beckett's role in this chapter? I know that some people expected Lanie to be the one to spell things out for Beckett, but to me it just seemed right that it should be Jim. And personally, I kind of love the man. He's such a Caskett shipper!  
>(And yeah, I know that he might have bordered on cliche in some parts lol, but oh well...)<em>

_And so you guys probably already know what I'm going t__o say now, but I'll say it anyway: if you found any part to be OOC, or saw any mistakes, please, just let me know! Can't fix it if I don't know about it. Also, I wrote the last several hundred words very recently, so I've had much less time to read through and edit them than I have for the rest, so if any part just doesn't sound quite right, tell me, mmmkay?_

_Now of course I want to say a big thanks to all you readers and crack dealers out there, because you're simply awesome. That's all there is to it. You're awesome. Your reviews never fail to make me smile (or sometimes laugh out loud, making me look like a total weirdo if I happen to be reading them on my phone in public, as has happened to me several times already), and replying to them is seriously one of my favourite things. By the way, if you didn't get a reply from me, it was because you were anonymous or had PMs disabled. I noticed a couple that did, so to you guys, thanks for your reviews! I'm sorry I can't give you a proper reply!_

_So, I should probably talk about liberties. Because we all know I've taken plenty of them. Castle being able to buy her apartment? Beckett already home from hospital? Yeah, I know. Not necessarily the most likely things ever. But oh well, it's fun to pretend, right?_

_Anywho this author's note is getting huge, so I better stop this ridiculous ramble now. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter (and again, I'm sorry for the wait) and I guess I'll see you all for the next installment! _

_–Laura_

_PS- Out of interest, anyone catch the subtle Bones reference I threw in this chapter? ;)  
>(perhaps it's a little <span>too<span> subtle lol, so I'll give a hint: it relates to 6x09, The Doctor In The Photo)_


	9. Reuniting

_Hey there, kids. Long time no see. And I mean really long time. Right now I'm predicting that you're all a little like, "Side By What?" "By The Possibility Of Who?" which would be completely fair enough, considering I have pretty much been absent longer than Donald Trump's real hair. _

_So, to explain. You might not actually care, but I do, because it really doesn't sit well with me to keep anyone waiting for anything, ever. So, it happened like this. Soon after posting the last chapter, I did a very stupid thing. I got lazy. I'd had a little writer's block when starting this chapter, so I was just like, "You know what, I'll leave it a few days, chill out a bit, then get back to it, it'll be cool." Which would have been completely fine- that is, if the Universe hadn't then decided that it was bored and it wanted to punish me for my slackness. First, I went over my internet limit, which meant that my computer and I had about a week where we were barely in each other's company– and even when we were, that old writer's block had somehow morphed itself from a mildly steep hill that I had to climb into the literary version of Everest, so no writing was even close to getting done. Then, I spent the last several days of my holiday at my father's house, a place which has internet but where spending periods of longer than an hour on the computer is heavily frowned upon. Plus, I was spending most of my time out at my grandparent's farm anyway, moving lawns, helping to muster sheep, and spending some nice, lazy hours sunbathing on a log by a creek (ah, Australian winter...). So anyway, once those few days were over, it was back to university– back to my medical course, and back to having 7 hours of classes in a day and then coming home to study until close to 2am every night. Which, you can imagine, leaves little time for anything, let alone writing (a much lengthier process than some of you might realise), which is why it has taken me almost 3 weeks to finally get this to you guys._

_So, that's my explanation. However, I know that excuses mean pretty much nothing, so I'm just going to say that I'm sorry for the long delay, and I'm really hoping that this will prove to be a decent chapter in order to make up for it. Also, if you happen to look at the chapter title, you might notice another reason why I'm really, really hoping that this will prove to be at least a reasonably good chapter. But regardless, the good news here is that you have all successfully weathered the storm, kids. The dark clouds of angst have cleared and it's all double rainbows from here on out. Well, you know, mostly. _

_Anyways, now that that's all out of the way, carry on._

_(Oh, and you might want to reread the last chapter before attempting this. Just a suggestion.)_

* * *

><p>It took her all of about 30 seconds to know that sleep was going to be impossible.<p>

It was not the pain– although that was certainly still considerable, even with the veritable pharmacy of meds that had been sent home with her. But pain she could deal with; pain she could ignore. She was no stranger to pain, physical or otherwise, and she had had two full days of consciousness now to become accustomed to this particular injury, to compartmentalize it so effectively that– for the most part– it now barely penetrated her awareness.

No, it was definitely not the pain. Though she hesitated to consciously admit it, the truth was that she knew _exactly _why she lying here, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling with sleep so completely and undeniably beyond her grasp.

It was the absence.

_His _absence.

How long had it been, in the years that they'd known each other, since a period of over 24 hours straight had passed without her hearing from him at least once? Weeks, definitely. Months, probably.

And then today, not a single word. No visit, call, or even text. She might have been worried– or even a little hurt– if it hadn't been for the unexpected delivery she'd received that afternoon, barely more than half an hour after Lanie and the boys had left.

She and her father been standing in the kitchen when the buzzer sounded, indicating that someone was at the door to the building, wanting to be let up. Her father had been the one to answer, but even from where she stood Beckett had easily been able to distinguish the crackly voice emerging from the intercom, one that was young, male, and unfamiliar.

"I have a delivery for, uh– " the speaker hesitated– "The _'One-writer Girl'_?"

Her father had shot her a quizzical look, but she had only nodded, unable to stop the smile that was slowly spreading across her face.

Just minutes later, she was seated on the couch, carefully drawing the lid off the shiny, midnight-blue gift box.

Inside lay a single white tulip– her favorite flower– resting atop another object, one that she recognized instantly, the smile on her lips swiftly growing into a wide, amused grin.

In typical Castle fashion, he had known exactly the right thing to do; in this case, he had sent her the one thing that couldn't possibly fail to make her feel better.

A brand-new Temptation Lane box set.

The rest of her afternoon had been spent curled on the couch, alternating between watching and napping as she let the familiar, loud, and overdramatic voices of the actors wash over her, soothing and comforting her just as they had done since she was nine years old.

And, laying there with Castle's cushion hugged close to her chest, she waited.

Returning to the present, Beckett shifted slightly in the bed, tightening her grip around that very same cushion and drawing in a deep, slow breath, one that was tinted with just the faintest trace of his familiar scent.

For hours she had waited, spending every minute silently hoping he would show up– and yet, at the same time, almost fearing that he would.

But he never came, leaving her stuck somewhere along the line between bitter disappointment and vague relief. Though it should have seemed strange, even paradoxical, the conflicting emotions weren't too hard to understand; after all, just because she knew exactly what she wanted didn't mean it terrified her any less. This was not some semi-serious relationship situation like those she had become used to, become comfortable with. This was always, and this was _real_. The stakes for getting hurt were now so high that if something were to go wrong– if somehow_ they_ went wrong– she knew that she would be shattered, completely and irreparably broken. There would be no going back to how she'd been before, no possible recovery from that kind of damage. The scar left upon her heart would never heal.

She couldn't help but wonder whether Castle felt that same fear, whether he felt that same tug-of-war of eagerness and hesitation that was pulling her in two completely different directions. She knew that they both stood upon a precipice, teetering on the edge as they finally made the decision they had been working toward for three years; step back onto the safety of solid, familiar ground, or take the leap into the unknown, and simply let themselves fall.

Right now, she knew that her heart had already made the jump; it was only her head that was yet to completely give up its tenuous hold on all that was safe and familiar, remaining as a tiny, faint whisper of doubt at the back of her mind. If she did as she was planning and finally allowed Castle in, allowed him to take his place within those walls that were her only defense, there would be no going back. Either he would complete her, filling that dark, empty space inside of her that no one else had ever reached– or he would destroy her, and her walls would reform so thick and impenetrable that no one would ever get even half that close ever again.

She hated this. No matter how much it terrified her, her decision had already been made, and she knew that it was already too late to turn back. _That_ she could handle. To be completely honest, the thing that frightened her the most was the thought of actually having to finally put herself on the line– to give up the façade she'd hidden behind for so long and actually tell him the truth. Even despite the fact that she was almost sure of what his answer would be– although she couldn't totally ignore the tiny flicker of uncertainty and self-doubt that constantly reminded her of the possibility that she was wrong about that– it was the idea of actually _saying_ those three little words that still terrified her, making her stomach clench with anxiety, her throat closing over until she found it difficult to breathe.

Despite that ever-present fear, there had been several moments during the course of the day when the waiting– and the over-thinking that inevitably went along with it– had just become too much, and she had simply picked up her phone, deciding just to call him herself. And yet each time she had balked almost immediately, her thumb hovering over his speed dial button only briefly before she had hastily set the phone back down, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

She didn't know exactly why, but she knew that she couldn't simply call him. So much of their relationship lay in the silence, the unsaid– the nonverbal communication between them always so much more telling than what was spoken aloud. Calling him now would never be enough. Daunting though the idea may be, this was a conversation they needed to have face to face; after all, words could lie, words could conceal– but eyes always spoke the truth.

Sighing softly, she closed her eyes. She wished he was here. It seemed illogical, considering that he was the one causing her all of the anxiety she felt, the one responsible for the chaotic jumble of emotions that roiled within her– and yet somehow she knew that having him here would calm her, his simple presence easing her nerves better than anything else could.

Of course, she understood why he hadn't come. He was giving her space, trying not to infringe on the time that she knew he believed she would be spending with Josh. And once she had come to understand that, she finally realized that it was undoubtedly not the first time he had done so. Just how many times during their partnership had he deliberately removed himself from the picture, stepping aside in order to allow her to be with someone else without the intrusion of his presence?

That realization had immediately taken her thoughts back to the previous summer, to that brief moment when she'd finally allowed herself to believe that Castle had feelings for her, and in turn had finally allowed herself to acknowledge her own. When he'd left with Gina, she'd believed that he'd simply chosen to move on, giving up on any feelings he'd might have had– if he'd ever had them at all– rather than make the effort to fight for her.

But now, finally, she realized the truth. It wasn't that he didn't want to fight for her, or that he didn't think she was _worth_ fighting for. Instead, it was that he chose to put aside his own feelings in order to respect her decision, caring only about ensuring her happiness– even if it came at the cost of his own.

Rolling onto her back, Beckett blew out a heavy, frustrated sigh, then reached up a hand to rub at her eyes. She should have known that this– like anything that involved herself and Castle– could never just be simple, let alone easy. And clearly, judging by her current wide-eyed state, sleep was not going to come easily either. A brief glance at the clock told her that she had now been lying awake over forty minutes, which surprised her; she hadn't realized just how much time had passed while she had been preoccupied, wrestling vainly with her own thoughts. Forty minutes ago, when her father had suggested that an early night might be good for them both, she'd been a little hesitant– Castle still hadn't shown up yet– but she'd seen the sense in his suggestion, and had therefore determinedly quashed her own feelings, her more rational self acknowledging that her father was most likely right.

So, though it was barely past nine, she'd forced herself to do the sensible thing, readying herself for bed and helping him to set up a bed for himself on the couch. She'd tried once to offer him her own bed, but the look he'd given her had swiftly silenced her, and she'd known better than to try to insist. As he headed for the bathroom, she'd sent a swift glance after him to ensure he couldn't see her, before she quietly picked up the couch cushion and headed for the bedroom, holding it tight to her chest. A moment later she'd returned, placing two of her own pillows on the couch and switching on the nearby lamp. Then, she'd turned off all the other lights and crossed the carpet to her room, pausing to call out a goodnight to her father, hearing him respond with one of his own. And then finally, with one last wistful glance towards the locked front door, she stepped inside the bedroom, quietly drawing the door closed behind her.

Feeling just as awake now as she had then, Beckett blew out another quiet sigh, tracing her fingers lightly along the soft edges of the cushion. She might be wide awake, yet she _was _tired– tired of being afraid, and tired of always allowing that fear to hold her back.

Her father had said that maybe it was up to her to take the next step; maybe the time had come for her to toughen up and take it.

Gently placing the cushion aside, she took a deep breath, then drew back the covers, sitting up carefully. Turning on the lamp on her nightstand, she slipped quietly out of the bed, silently padding across the carpet to the chair where she'd hung the clothes she'd been wearing earlier. Slowly, carefully– thanks to her bullet wound, dressing was amongst the more painful of basic tasks– she traded her old, oversized t-shirt and soft pajama shorts for her other clothes, donning the purple shirt and dark jeans once more. Slipping her feet back into her flats, she paused for a moment– taking another slow, steadying breath– then picked up her phone, sliding it into her pocket before tiptoeing toward the bedroom door.

Easing the door open, Beckett peeked around the edge, sending a surreptitious glance towards her father on the couch. Feeling like a teenager sneaking out to meet her first love– except for the age difference, she had to admit that the description actually wasn't all that inaccurate– she held her breath, listening for the tell-tale sound of her father's snores before she dared venture any further.

Hearing the soft, familiar snores that she remembered so well from her childhood, Beckett smiled softly before stepping silently out of the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her. Then, treading as lightly as possible, she headed to the kitchen, the dim glow of the city lighting her way as she moved noiselessly across the thick, soft carpet.

Reaching the counter, she carefully scooped up her keys– including the new key, the key to the apartment that was now actually _hers_. Or, more precisely, the apartment that _would _be hers, when– or perhaps _if_– she signed the papers Castle had left for her.

Pausing, she leaned against the counter, her fingers absentmindedly tracing along the key's jagged edges as she thought. Even with a whole day to think about it, she wasn't so sure what her decision would be. She couldn't quite explain her hesitation to sign on that dotted line– obviously, like any good New Yorker, she would normally jump at the chance of owning her own home– but now that she was faced with that actual possibility, things suddenly weren't so clear-cut.

Of course, she had no doubt that Castle's offer was genuine– 'genuine' was not a word that most people would associate with Richard Castle, she knew, but that was simply because they could only see _Rick_, the playboy mystery novelist with a gift for producing bestsellers. They saw the façade, the disguise. They didn't see _Castle, _the family man, the loyal friend, the closet philanthropist; they didn't see the simple guy with the heart of gold, the one who would go to the ends of the Earth and beyond for those he cared about.

But _she_ did. Perhaps that was why she wasn't so sure she could accept the apartment from him; his wealth had never been a factor in her ever-growing regard for him– in fact, it may have even caused her to look upon him _less_ favorably back at the very beginning of their partnership, back when her feelings towards him had been a strange, ever-shifting mix of irritation, reluctant liking, and strictly concealed awe. She didn't want him to feel as though he needed to make grand gestures or shower her with gifts in order to convince her of his affections, or to ensure her own. To her, his money was just a minor aspect of he who was, a single piece of the vast, beautifully chaotic puzzle that was Richard Castle.

And generally, he seemed to see it in much the same way. Most of the time he wore his wealth like an old, favorite coat; without being overstated, it was simply _there_, a part of him that others could see but that he himself had grown so accustomed to that he no longer even really noticed it. In her experience, there was only one time when he seemed to be truly aware of his money, and that was whenever he felt that someone was only interested in him because of it. In fact, from the little she had managed to learn through stakeout admissions or the occasional throwaway comment, she could tell that there had been very few women in his life besides herself, Martha and Alexis– and perhaps Kyra– who hadn't given a damn about how much money he had, and had certainly never treated him any differently because of it.

Sighing quietly, Beckett rubbed a hand over her face, struggling to sort out her thoughts. She'd talk to Castle about the apartment, make sure they both knew exactly what this gift did or didn't mean. She knew that she would try to reason with him, offer sign the papers on the condition that she pay him back, and he would flat-out refuse. So she would try to compromise, suggest that maybe she could pay half, and he would probably still refuse. But that certainly wouldn't stop her from trying.

He'd told her himself once that she never gave up, never backed down– so, he would accept being part owner, or she would make him see just how persistent she could be. Perhaps she would even refuse to sign at all; the idea of Castle as her landlord was suddenly an amusing one, and one that wasn't entirely without perks. After all, as her landlord he would be responsible for any repairs that needed doing– which meant that not only would she not have to pay for anything to be done, but he would probably insist that he could take care of it himself– and so she would also have the added amusement of watching him struggle vainly with it until he finally gave in, pouting in that adorable way of his as he sulkily dialed the required professional.

Smiling at the thought, Beckett slowly pushed herself away from the counter, then paused for a moment, listening. When she had confirmed that her father's quiet snores were still issuing steadily from the couch, she took a few steps and gently pulled open one her cupboards, carefully extracting a clean glass. She'd been thirstier than usual all day, something she suspected was a side effect of one or more of the several types of meds she was currently on. Pausing with her hand on the faucet, she frowned slightly, thinking. Had Doctor Hudsen said anything about that when he'd signed her out of hospital that morning? She couldn't remember, but then, she hadn't really been listening. Not only did she instinctively dislike the abrupt, stern-faced man– she'd been disappointed to discover that the friendly Doctor Everett had only been filling in for him for the one day, because she'd never gotten the chance to thank her properly– but she'd also been somewhat distracted, a fact which was somewhat understandable considering that she had truly believed that she had just lost one of the most important people in her life.

Blinking, she shook her head. God, had that really only been this morning? She still couldn't believe that so much could have changed in just a few short hours, her life once again taking an abrupt turn in a completely unexpected direction. It was beginning to seem to her that their relationship had been burning with a slow, steady heat for three years , smoldering silently beneath the surface and growing so gradually that neither of them had really even noticed at first– and when they finally had, they'd done whatever they could to ignore it– but now that slow burn had suddenly become a fierce blaze, one that was no longer possible to deny or ignore.

Taking a deep breath, she turned on the faucet, smiling slightly as she thought it over. No matter how hard she tried now, there was no putting out that flame– so perhaps it was time she simply stopped trying to extinguish it, and instead started fighting fire with fire.

Having been caught up in her thoughts, the glass was already approaching half full when she finally registered something, her smile morphing into a tiny frown as she looked closer at the faucet. Visually, it looked exactly as it should; it was a perfectly normal, working faucet. Which would normally be exactly what anyone would expect to see– except for the fact that when she'd left her home nine days ago, this faucet had been broken and leaking constantly, just as it had done ever since the day she'd moved in.

In her distraction, she had failed to notice that the water was swiftly filling the glass; finally, it began to overflow, the cool liquid streaming over her fingers. Jumping slightly, she hastily shut off the faucet in question before carefully placing the dripping glass down on the countertop, her eyes still focused unwaveringly on the faucet, staring numbly at the site of the non-existent leak.

So, it appeared that Castle had already taken the task of any repairs into his own hands. With a growing sense of wonder, she realized that the bathroom door hadn't squeaked even once since she'd been home, and hadn't her father turned on the light in the dining room earlier, the one that had had a blown globe for months?

Exactly how much more had Castle done for her that she was yet to even realize?

Picking up the glass, she took a large gulp, her gaze still locked on the now perfectly-functioning faucet. In her mind's eye she could suddenly see him– lying on his back on her kitchen floor, barefoot, clad in worn jeans and a black singlet with his head and shoulders buried deep in the cupboard beneath her sink. She could almost hear his growl of frustration as a bolt refused to budge, his arm muscles straining as he fought to lever the wrench against the unyielding metal, hampered by the lack of space to accommodate his broad frame. His jaw is dark with stubble, a streak of dirt or grease upon one cheek; sweat beads at his hairline and darkens the neck of his singlet, but his eyes are determined, his jaw clenched. Large, grease-streaked hands adjust their grip; muscles pull taut beneath tanned skin as strength and sheer will are pitted against metal stuck fast with the obstinacy borne through years left undisturbed. At first, nothing appears to happen– simply two opposing forces locked in a silent, unchanging battle– until suddenly the determination in his eyes turns to triumph; and, with a muted squeal of defeat, metal begins to move.

Forcefully pulling herself back to reality, Beckett blinked rapidly, then sucked in a sharp breath; judging by the burn in her chest, it was her first in a while. Lifting the glass to her lips, she threw back the rest of its contents, then swallowed hard. Well, that was certainly interesting. She'd thought that she'd put a lid on her Castle fantasies after what had happened last summer, but clearly not. Or perhaps, now that she was officially single her brain simply didn't feel guilty about them anymore, and as such no longer made an effort to hide them from her consciousness. Whatever the case, she figured that it would probably be best to try to keep them to a minimum for the time being, at least until she and Castle had sorted out exactly where it was that they stood now.

Of course, if all went as she hoped, she would no longer need to fantasize; after all, the reality would be right before her. And he would be all _hers_.

Feeling more than a little off-balance, Beckett took a deep, steadying breath before carefully putting the glass down beside the sink. Then, moving silently to where her handbag lay at the end of the counter, she gently fished around inside, quietly removing a pen and a small scrap of paper. She didn't know how long she would be gone, and she didn't want to alarm her dad if he woke during the night and looked into her room to check on her, only to find her gone. Instead, she took another deep breath, then uncapped the pen and scrawled a quick explanatory note.

_Dad-_

_You were right. The next step is mine, and I'm taking it._

K.

Putting the pen back in her handbag, she quietly pulled out her purse, removing her I.D. and a little emergency cash before slipping them both into her pocket with her phone. Then she set the note down on the counter where her father would see it, exhaling softly before turning around and moving silently towards the door, pausing to collect a warm coat from the hook on the way. Pulling it on, she stepped towards the door, again being careful to move as noiselessly as possible. Her hand was already reaching for the bolt to begin unlocking the door when a sudden flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye made her freeze, her whole body tensing.

Instantly on alert, she turned to face whatever it was that had caught her attention, her eyes immediately locking onto the small video screen that was now embedded in the wall beside the doorway. One of Castle's security additions, it worked much like a high-tech version of the fish-eye lens in a normal door; hooked up to a small camera that was placed just above her doorway, it gave her a clear view of the small area of hallway directly in front of her door, and of anyone who might be standing within its range.

And, right now, she could see exactly who was there.

No one.

Watching the monitor, she wondered briefly whether what she'd seen was simply another tenant heading past to their own apartment, or– just as possibly– that the movement she'd seen was merely a trick of the light, and there hadn't actually been anyone there at all.

Waiting another few seconds just to be safe, Beckett continued to stare at the small screen, which in turn continued to reveal nothing but silent, empty hallway. Shaking her head, she half-turned, reaching for the bolt once more. But suddenly, something– some strange intuition– made her pause, and instinctively she glanced back at the monitor, her eyes locking onto it just in time to see a tall man in a dark coat stride past, his head down.

Taking her hand from the bolt, Beckett held her breath, watching the monitor closely as she counted the seconds. She couldn't be sure, but in that brief glimpse she'd thought that the man just might be–

"_Castle…"_ she breathed, her eyes locked on the man crossing the camera frame. There was no trace of doubt in her mind now. Even if she hadn't seen his face clearly as he passed, she would have recognized that figure, that walk, even that coat. It was undeniable.

_Castle is here._

As she processed that startling thought, Castle once more crossed the screen, his step swift and agitated. He's _pacing_, she realized belatedly, finally able to concentrate on what it was she was seeing now that she was over her initial shock of actually _seeing_ him.

A few moments later he appeared onscreen again, but rather than disappearing out the opposite side of the frame once more, he halted in front of the door instead, appearing to be debating with himself. His forehead was creased in a frown, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. As she watched, he suddenly removed one, dragging it through his already-tousled hair before he slumped against the wall opposite her door, his chest rising and then falling as he blew out a slow, heavy sigh.

Frozen in place, Beckett watched silently as he rubbed his hands over his face, his whole body seeming to droop with exhaustion or distress as he lowered his head, leaning heavily against the wall as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. After several long moments of stillness, his shoulders slowly began to rise as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then lifted his head, looking directly at the door with such a tortured expression that her breath caught in her throat. After staring unseeingly at the door for a few moments– almost as if, in his mind, he was looking right through it into the space beyond– he blew out another silent sigh and wearily pushed himself from the wall, the simple movement seeming to take considerable effort. Looking down briefly, he checked his watch, and then turned, taking two slow steps in the direction of the elevator before he moved out of the camera's range and disappeared from sight.

Sucking in a quick breath, Beckett anxiously counted down the seconds. Had he left? Given up? He wouldn't have even reached the elevator yet; she could still catch him. Her heart suddenly racing, she closed her hand tightly around the bolt– ready to start yanking at every single lock that was standing between her and Castle– when suddenly he reappeared on the screen, striding in the complete opposite direction to the elevator.

Relief flooded her; he hadn't left her. He'd promised her that he'd always be there for her, and here he was, doing his best to honor that promise in whatever way he could. Releasing a slow, shaky breath, Beckett slowly let go of the bolt, reaching into her pocket with a hand that trembled. Slipping out her phone, she typed out a quick message, her eyes flicking constantly between the phone and the monitor. Choosing Castle as the recipient, she bit her lip and hit Send.

_You know, generally when someone wants a door to open, they knock on it, not walk back and forth in front of it…_

Watching the screen closely, she heard the muffled beep of his message tone in the hallway before she actually saw him. A moment later he stepped into the frame, already pulling his phone from his pocket, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She watched his reaction as he read who the message was from, his whole body suddenly snapping straight, his head lifting. He hastily pressed the screen to view the message– his hands seeming slightly unsteady– and a moment later she saw him frown, looking momentarily confused before his expression suddenly changed and he turned swiftly, lifting his head to stare directly at the small camera that he himself had had installed.

Even though he couldn't see her, it was like he was staring straight at her– caught off-guard, she felt her breath hitch, her stomach suddenly filled with the familiar flutter that one of his intense gazes always evoked. Swallowing, Beckett reached for the bolt a final time, carefully and quietly drawing it across. Silently undoing the remaining locks, she slowly eased the door open, slipping outside as soon as it was wide enough for her to pass through. Pulling the door almost completely shut behind her, Beckett took a deep breath, and looked up to meet Castle's eyes.

It was like being hit by a freight train.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage. At the hospital, his gaze had been flat and unreadable, revealing nothing. Now, it was as if that blank exterior had been stripped away, his enigmatic guardedness of the day before now completely gone, leaving every emotion laid bare for her to see.

Swiftly recovering herself, Beckett gave him a small smile, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. Suddenly realizing that she was trembling, she swallowed slightly, sending up a silent prayer that he wouldn't notice. Then, steeling herself, she took a deep breath.

"Hey," was all she could say, her voice quiet, but mercifully steady and even.

For a moment Castle simply stared at her, those overwhelmingly expressive eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made it hard for her to breathe. And then he tilted his head just a fraction, the tiniest hint of a smile curving the corners of his mouth.

"Hey."

How could one single ordinary word make her want to simply throw her arms around his neck and never let go? His voice was low, deep, and so achingly familiar– so completely_ Castle– _that she suddenly needed to blink, surprised by the hot, sudden prickle of unexpected tears behind her eyes. Somehow, she hadn't truly realized just how much she'd missed the sound of his voice, just how much she'd _needed_ to hear it.

Steadying herself, Beckett determinedly forced back the rush of emotion swamping her, swallowing the lump that had suddenly lodged in her throat. He was still staring at her, the look in his eyes causing her breathing to become suddenly uneven– it was clear from his gaze that he wanted nothing more than to yank her into his arms, to pull her close and hold her tight until they both finally believed that this was real, and that she was okay. That _they _were okay. Watching him, she could see just how much it was costing him to maintain control; even from where she stood she could feel the tension radiating from his body, the rigid set of his shoulders telling her that he was working hard to restrain himself from simply reaching out for her.

Shoving her hands deeper into her pockets, Beckett dropped her gaze, struggling with her own control; she knew that once she was in his arms, any last vestige of control she possessed would vanish, and anything short of the apocalypse would be unlikely to succeed in tearing her lips from his. Soon, she would be all too happy for that to be the case– but first, there were things he needed to know, things that they both needed to hear.

She'd held herself back for three years– she just hoped she could hold onto that self-restraint for just a little longer.

Suddenly noticing the phone that was still clenched in one white-knuckled hand, Beckett smiled, lifting her eyes to his once more.

Clearing her throat slightly, she nodded towards the camera above the door, then commented wryly, "Handy little security feature, that."

It seemed to take Castle a moment to catch up– she understood only too well how difficult it was to focus on anything that wasn't each other at the moment– but when he did, his body shifted slightly, his expression seeming suddenly nervous, almost awkward. Whereas only the moment before he had seemed barely able to tear his eyes away from her face, now he was looking absolutely anywhere but; lowering his head slightly, his shoulders hunched, his gaze shifting constantly form place to place like a child who knows they're about to be sternly reprimanded and is desperately seeking a way to escape.

Seeing his apprehension, she paused for a moment, biting her lip. She'd put him on guard again. God, she should have predicted this, should have realized that he had been fearing how she would react to what he'd done. Had that been part of the reason why he'd stayed away all day? Goddammit, she should have called him. Reached out. Done _something_. She'd spent the whole day trying to sort through her own turbulent feelings, but had never really paused to consider that he might be struggling with fears and concerns of his own.

Suddenly, his own words from so long ago came back to her, a soft, faded whisper in the back of her mind.

_Ever think maybe I was waiting to hear from you?_

Swallowing back the guilt and regret she felt– it hurt her, knowing that she had caused _him_ pain– she drew in a deep breath before stepping slightly closer, once more capturing his eyes with hers.

Hoping he could read the truth in her eyes as clearly as she could see the fear in his, she began softly, "Castle, about my apartment–"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted hurriedly, his voice heavy with unhappiness. "I know how you feel about privacy, and I should have been more respectful of that. I know I crossed a line, but I just needed– but Jim and I just needed to ensure you would be safe."

Tearing his eyes from hers, he lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

Feeling the lump in her throat thicken, Beckett swallowed slightly, then reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm.

"Castle," she said quietly, her voice slightly husky from the tightness in her throat. "Thank you."

His eyes had been locked on her hand– staring at it as if he didn't quite believe that he wasn't simply imagining its presence there– but at her words he looked up quickly, clearly startled. Meeting her eyes warily, he searched her gaze, seemingly seeking any trace of anger or displeasure in their depths. Slowly allowing her arm to drop to her side, Beckett continued to hold his gaze, the silence stretching between them so absolute that she could hear her own unsteady heartbeat pounding in her ears. After the passage of several long, slow seconds– a period that seemed to her to last much longer– she saw something shift in his eyes, some scarcely-believed realization taking the place of all the fear and uncertainty that had lingered there before.

Unconsciously biting her lip, she held his gaze for just a moment longer– it was as long as she dared. She wasn't entirely sure what had just passed between them, but she did know that if she didn't break away now, she would become so caught up in their silent communication that she would forget everything she had wanted to say, instead simply giving in and allowing her whole body to say it for her.

With that heady thought, she tore her eyes away and stared determinedly at a spot on the carpet, her breathing coming just a little faster. God, he'd only _looked _at her, and yet her heart was pounding and her skin tingling as if he'd just run those large hands very slowly and very attentively over every single inch of her body.

_Oh boy._

Forcing herself to focus– she could let herself think about his extremely distracting ability to practically make love to her with his eyes _later_– she drew in a quick, steadying breath, then lifted her head, willing her voice to sound calm and casual as she moved to a slightly safer topic.

"So, exactly how long have you been out here?" she asked after a moment, keeping her gaze safely focused at eye-level– which, due to the absence of her usual power heels, was now a few inches lower than she was used to, just equal with the level of his chin. Although, that too proved to be a poor choice of focus; the moment he started to speak, her eyes were immediately drawn to his lips, distracting her all over again.

"Hmmm... _here _here, or in the general vicinity here?"

Hearing the familiar, joking tone underlying his words, Beckett looked up swiftly, too startled by his sudden change in manner to remember that she had been attempting to avoid his gaze. To her shock, he was actually _smiling_, his eyes twinkling at her in a fashion that was so familiar and so completely _Castle _that she momentarily forgot to breathe.

Seeming to realize she wouldn't– or couldn't– answer, Castle smiled just a little wider, his eyes still light and playful but yet with an incredible tenderness to them that both stunned and mesmerized her, making her unable to look away.

Returning to her original question, he shrugged, his voice carefully nonchalant as he answered, "Not long."

There was something in that deceptively innocent tone that pulled her from her daze, sending up a red flag in her subconscious. Tilting her head slightly, she simply quirked an eyebrow at him, and waited.

Seeing her expression, Castle shuffled his feet, his smile growing sheepish. "An hour. Maybe two."

_Two hours._ She had enough idea of the current time to know that he had already been here, or at least close by, for almost a full hour before she and her father had even gone to bed. All that time he'd been out here, wanting to see her, but had held himself back, believing that it hadn't been what _she'd_ wanted. The thought was… overwhelming. She wasn't sure how to react, feeling once again torn between the need to apologize over and over and the ever-increasing urge to simply grab him and kiss him so thoroughly that neither of them would ever want to let go.

"So," he said eventually, his voice distracting her from her thoughts, his eyes ranging over her body as if taking in her appearance for the first time. Seemingly noting her state of dress, he lifted his eyes to hers, quirking an eyebrow inquiringly. "Headed somewhere?"

Swallowing slightly, Beckett gave him a small, wry smile, then answered truthfully, "Well, I was, but you've kind of saved me the trip."

She was watching him closely enough that she saw his eyes widen slightly at her words, his throat working almost imperceptibly as he swallowed. Feeling herself flush at the sudden intensity of his gaze, Beckett ducked her head, giving herself a moment to recover. Without lifting her head– she didn't know if she would be able to find the courage to speak if she were to meet his eyes right now– she cleared her throat slightly, ignoring the sudden fluttering that had spread throughout her stomach as she forced the words out.

"Do you… do you want to take a walk or something? There's a park just around the corner," she suggested tentatively, silently praying that her voice wouldn't betray the nervousness she felt. Glancing briefly back at the door, she quickly explained, "I'd ask you in, but Dad's asleep on the couch."

Holding her breath, Beckett waited for his reply, but after a few seconds had passed and still no response came, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes immediately focusing on his face. He was staring at the door, his forehead creased in a deep frown as he appeared to struggle with himself.

Biting her lip anxiously, she was about to ask him if everything was okay when he suddenly spoke, his eyes still fixed pensively on the door.

"Josh isn't here?"

Her first reaction was one of surprise; she'd been so distracted by Castle's presence that she had almost forgotten that he still didn't know about Josh. Her second reaction, swiftly following behind the first, was complete confusion. It was something in the _way_ he had said it, almost as if he were almost unhappy to hear that Josh mightn't be here. No, not unhappy, she realized suddenly, her eyes widening. _Disapproving_.

Talking a deep breath, Beckett fiddled nervously with the sleeve of her coat, her voice soft but resolute as she answered.

"Josh is gone, Castle."

"Oh," he replied slowly, still clearly distracted by his own thoughts. And then suddenly he seemed to register her intended meaning, his frown morphing into a look of dawning realization before his head snapped around, his eyes locking onto hers.

"_Oh_."

There was a long moment of silence between them as they both allowed the truth to sink in, slowly absorbing the full weight of her admission. Then, suddenly seeming to feel the need to say something, he added quietly, "I'm sorry."

Dropping her gaze, Beckett gave a small shrug, her voice coming out huskier than she'd intended. "It was time to stop hiding."

She saw his hands twitch involuntarily, then quickly bury themselves onto his pockets, his rigid self-control once more taking over. Studying him, she began to realize that no matter what he wanted– and how _much_ he wanted it– he simply wouldn't allow himself to act on it, instead continuing to hold himself back until he was sure of what it was that _she _wanted. And in that moment, she knew yet again that her father had been right, that there was only one of them who could take that next step– the first step away from what they had been, and towards all that they _would_ be.

Turning away from him, Beckett took a small step back toward her door, hearing the soft sound of his indrawn breath behind her as her hand closed firmly around the doorknob. Carefully pulling the door fully closed, she silently drew her key from her pocket and locked it, acutely aware of his eyes boring into her back, watching her every movement with his intense gaze. Resting a palm against the cool, solid metal of the door to steady herself, she took a deep, slow breath, then slowly turned around, her eyes lifting to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, her eyes widening slightly as they again received the full force of his gaze. He was closer than she'd expected; it was as if he'd been involuntarily drawn forward, unable to resist the need to keep her from walking away. Ignoring the suddenly frenzied beating of her overwhelmed heart, she took a single slow step closer, her eyes never leaving his as she gave him a small, soft smile.

"Come on, Castle. Walk with me."

When he didn't immediately respond– he was still staring at her in that slightly disbelieving way that suggested he was half-certain that he was simply imagining this whole situation– she smiled a little wider and gently reached out, lacing her arm through his. Then, giving it a gentle tug, she maneuvered them both in the direction of the elevator, drawing in close by his side as they walked.

They had only taken a few steps when Castle halted abruptly, seeming to come out of his daze, his eyes blinking rapidly as he attempted to focus.

"Kate, wait," he said suddenly, his arm tightening around hers, holding her in place. Startled by their sudden extreme closeness, Beckett's breath hitched, her eyes immediately lifting to lock onto his lips.

Seemingly failing to notice her sudden preoccupation, Castle continued worriedly, "We really shouldn't– I mean, not that I don't want to, but… well, Kate, you're only just out of hospital. You've barely even started to heal."

Pausing, he took a deep breath, and she tilted her head, finally tearing her eyes from his lips to focus on his eyes, seeing the unmasked anxiety in their depths.

"You need to rest, Kate," he insisted gently, his tone low and almost pleading as he continued. "I know you're used to being practically indestructible, but right now you're not, and you really can't push yourself too hard just yet. And beyond that, you know as well as I do that the man who tried to kill you is still out there somewhere. I can't just allow you to walk around at night completely unprotected. I won't."

"Well, I wouldn't be completely unprotected if you were there."

"Kate, please," he said quietly, his eyes serious. "You're my partner. You know full well that I would be ready to take a life, or to give my own, just to protect you– but I'm just a _writer_, and this is a trained _killer_. No matter how hard I try, I can't defend you from that."

Stunned by his admission– had he really just said that he would both kill and die for her?– Beckett could do nothing but stare at him in shock, finding herself mesmerized by his piercing, solemn gaze. Swallowing slightly, she finally tore her eyes away, lowering her head slightly as she forced herself to focus, weighing her options. Of course, they couldn't go back into her apartment– their voices would surely wake her father, and this was a conversation that she wanted to keep between herself and Castle alone– but then, they couldn't exactly stay out here in the hallway forever, either.

Castle's fear of her putting herself in danger tugged at her heart; it had been a long time since she had been able to refuse him anything easily, and he had just practically begged her not to risk both their lives by venturing out onto the streets. She knew that if she insisted, he would give in, ignoring his own fears in order to grant her what she wanted, but she knew immediately that she could never do that to him. She'd seen the dread in his eyes, felt the tension in his body as he battled the distress that the idea had caused him; she could never willfully inflict that kind of suffering upon him.

Biting her lip, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting and holding his, letting him see every thought and emotion that was running through her mind. For a moment he was silent, searching her gaze with corried eyes, until he sighed quietly, seeming to accept the inevitable.

"All right," he acceded, his expression growing wry as he continued, "but if we're going anywhere, we're _driving_ there, okay?"

Feeling suddenly relieved by his solution, Beckett grinned, her hand squeezing his forearm gently. "Deal."

With that, they began to move in the direction of the elevator once more, a comfortable silence extending between them as they both briefly lost themselves in their own thoughts. As the doors opened and they stepped inside, Castle cleared his throat slightly, tilting his head down to look at her.

"So, Detective," he began, his voice containing just a trace of that light, teasing tone that she knew so well, "since you've now procured your own personal chauffeur– free of charge, I might add– it seems all that remains is for you to decide upon a destination."

Smiling, she looked up at him as the elevator doors slowly drew closed, her expression mysterious.

"Actually, there _is _somewhere I would like to go."

* * *

><p><em>Okay *takes deep breath* hit me with it, kids. I can take it. Just tell me how I can fix it, and I promise I will try my best to do so.<em>

_Well, now that that's out of the way, I had a few other questions for you guys. I've found that when writing two very long– and very introspection-heavy– chapters, it is exceedingly difficult to ensure the proper continuity of feelings between them. Last chapter, Beckett was all about realising her love for Castle and being all excited about the prospect of 'always'. I tried to continue that in this chapter, while also addressing the fear and self-doubt that inevitably creeps in after any moment of such magnitude, especially one which will have such a defining impact on the rest of her life. What I need to know from you guys is whether it all flowed okay, or whether her stream of emotions was too stilted and maybe a little all over the place, or whether it flowed smoothly enough that it was believable and also not too difficult to follow._

_Anywho, onto more interesting topics– I somehow feel like I have gone a little Mills & Boon on you guys all of a sudden. I mean, don't even ask where the hell the whole Castle-doing-a-little-plumbing fantasy came from, because I sure as hell don't have a damn clue. If you guys thought it was stupid, or just plain weird, let me know and I'll cut it out. Sometimes when I write I seriously feel like I have a multi-personality disorder or something, except in this case it would actually be more like multi-writer disorder. One part of me wants to make things all realistic and as believable as possible, and the other just wants to see how much sensual imagery and how many ridiculously fluffy romantic moments I could fit into a single chapter lol. I wonder if there's some kind of therapy or something for that. I bet JK Rowling would know._

_Well, anyway, I think that it is time for me to love you and leave you, my lovely padawan crack-dealers. Especially considering that it is now 7:15am, and no, I haven't slept yet. I have a mountain of study to do today as well, which is just going to be buckets of fun. But still, it was worth it just to finally get this to you guys. So, thank you to anyone who is still bothering to read this, and I hope you got a little bit of enjoyment out of it at least._

_Oh, and as for the ending... figured that a little mystery might be fun for a change lol. Wherever could our beloved Caskett be headed? ;)_

_Stay excellent, guys._

_-Laura_

_P.S- Apologies for the author's notes. They're gargantuan, I know. My bad._


	10. Rising

_Hey there, my lovely Jedis,  
>(figured you guys have definitely earned the promotion by now lol)<em>

_Well, it's great to be back, and a very merry Monday to you all :)_

_I know that, yet again, my absence has been far longer than any of us would like. Honestly, 3 weeks between updates (and twice in a row, too!) is simply deplorable, especially when you guys are used to a far more efficient rate from your writers (geez Emma, way to make me look bad :P), but unfortunately, it really couldn't be helped. My schedule is still as insane as ever, and I'm lucky if I have the time to stop and breathe, let alone sit down and spend hours writing. _

_And, in the interest of full disclosure, there is actually another, more personal reason why I've been so slow in getting this to you guys, but I'm not going to go into that now. Instead I'm just going to say that I'm sorry, and leave it at that. Except to maybe add this: have I told you guys lately that I love you? Well, I do. But let's not get all mushy about it or anything :P_

_Anyhow, on with the show. _

_(Again, I would suggest rereading at least the previous chapter before attempting this one, just so you're not completely confused about what the hell is happening…)_

* * *

><p>It was quiet in the cemetery.<p>

Here, amongst the faintly gleaming marble headstones– each one a still, silent sentinel, faithfully watching over those who had fallen– the perpetual drone of the city seemed like nothing more than the shadow of a memory, a faded whisper of a different world. Here, the only sound to pierce the silence was the soft sigh of the breeze; winding around her body, it paused only long enough to feather the auburn strands of her hair lightly against her face before continuing on, the cool, gentle current lifting to stir the leaves of the few trees scattered around them.

And yet, there was only one sound that she was truly listening to, one so small and faint that it was scarcely audible beneath the whispering breeze; the soft, barely-discernable breathing of the man standing tall and silent beside her, the man with whom she had stood side by side almost every day for the past three years, the man who had owned her heart long before she'd ever noticed giving it away.

Listening to the gentle, even rhythm of his breath, she simply stood there, allowing the rise and fall of her chest to slowly fall in time with his. It was something so negligible, so small and simple, and yet somehow, it was everything. He was breathing. She was breathing. To her, that was all that could ever matter: because as long as that simple miracle continued, they would always have each other.

All they had to do was breathe.

Of course, they were the lucky ones. Their story was just beginning; the past three years had been their prologue, and now they had countless chapters ahead of them, each one full of hope and anticipation and promise. And just maybe– somewhere down the line– there was a happy ending that awaited them, the kind that he had always wanted her to believe in, the kind that she'd never allowed herself to accept as possible.

But now, maybe, she was beginning to.

And after everything– after all the challenges they had faced, all the battles they had fought just to be here together now, standing side by side– she felt that they had earned it, that they had already paid their dues, in tears and sweat and blood. But then, even with Castle's steady influence, she was– and would always be– a realist, and so she could never completely ignore the cold, stark truth.

She saw the evidence of it every single day; the simple, unavoidable reality that those who were most deserving of a happy end were the ones who would never get one.

Her mother and father had deserved one, but instead of happy, they had gotten quick and bloody and violent. She knew she could never give them the ending they had deserved, but she could– and would– spend her life doing whatever she could to prevent the others from suffering the same fate that they had. Of course, no matter what she did or how hard she tried, there would always be people she couldn't save, people whom she could only fight to win justice for, providing that much-needed closure for their families and honoring their memories as best she could.

Looking down at the pearly-gray headstone before her– its freshly-carved surface shining softly and serenely in the moonlight– Beckett closed her eyes briefly, fighting back the guilt and grief and regret that flowed through her veins like a slow, bitter poison, the pain in her heart still raw.

Roy and Evelyn had deserved their happy end; instead, like her parents, they'd gotten only tragedy.

As she had that thought, Castle's voice unexpectedly filled her mind, his words emerging from somewhere in the depths of her memory as if every word he'd ever said to her was somehow etched into her brain, filed carefully away within her subconscious.

"_Did you know in the original Greek, tragedy literally means 'goat-song'? I know, doesn't make any sense to me either. But whatever that first story was, I can't help but think that bad things must have happened to that goat..."_

To her surprise, Beckett felt the tiniest hint of a smile begin to form on her lips, a faint spark of warmth igniting deep within her.

With that spark came the sense of wonder; how could it even be possible for someone to have such a powerful effect on her, to have engrained themselves so completely into her mind and heart? How could a single thought of him be enough to draw her back from the edge of desolation and grief, and anchor her once more in the real world?

Opening her eyes, Beckett shook her head slightly, utterly bemused. Already she could feel her emotions settling, retreating back into that small, well-fortified corner of her mind– never ignored, but simply muted to a manageable level, like a radio playing on low volume in the background– and she knew that it was all because of him. She still didn't know exactly when– or more importantly, _how– _but somewhere along the line, he had become a part of her, and she knew that no matter how hard she tried, she would never get rid of him.

Which, in all honesty, suited her just fine.

Smiling slightly, she looked up at him, the warmth inside her continuing to grow and spread throughout her body as her eyes fixed upon his face .

Seeing that his eyes roamed constantly, checking for any danger, Beckett felt a tiny stab of guilt, her smile fading as she noticed the tension in his shoulders, the grim set of his normally smiling mouth.

She knew he hadn't wanted to come. She had seen it in his eyes the moment she'd asked him to bring her here; seen the flicker of fear that had crossed his features, the instinctive urge to refuse that had battled briefly behind his eyes. Clearly, she was not the only one who had revisited this place in her dreams, not the only one who had woken in panic, breathless and drenched in sweat, her heart pounding wildly in her ears.

Briefly she'd wondered who it was that he saw in his version; wondered which of them it was that lay bleeding in the lush grass, whether it was her heart or his that made its final futile effort to carry on, its steadily slowing beat like the dull, fatalistic pounding of funeral drums.

In hers, it would forever be him; staring blankly up at her, the light in his brilliant blue eyes swiftly fading as she clung to him, the tears streaming down her face as she'd begged him to stay.

But, whether he had nightmares of his own or not, he had still brought her here, somehow seeming to understand and accept that this was important to her– that this was something that she simply needed to do, not only for herself, but for both of them.

The trip in the car had been quiet, but not uncomfortable. They weren't nervous around each other, exactly; they were just… waiting. Preparing. It was the deep breath taken before the plunge; that final moment of peace and preparation before making the jump, before simply letting go and allowing gravity to take hold.

Whether they consciously admitted it or not, they both felt it coming, that one moment they had been slowly moving towards for three long years.

The one moment that would change everything.

She'd spent much of the drive simply studying him, and it had been a testament to the gravity of the situation that he hadn't even commented upon it, let alone teased her mercilessly for it like he normally would have done. Instead, he'd simply kept his eyes on their surroundings and she'd kept hers on him, her head resting lightly against the seat as she watched him.

Then, without the distraction of his eyes on her face, she could take a moment to truly look at him, studying him in the periodic glow of the streetlights that illuminated his features. He looked better than he had the day before, the circles under his eyes much fainter, his gaze no longer seeming hollow and haunted like it had been. Aside from the slight gauntness to his cheeks– she and the comfort food truck would remedy that one soon enough– he looked much more like _her_ Castle tonight, a fact that was much to her relief. After the events of the day before, she had truly feared the possibility that she'd not only lost her partner, but her best friend.

It was only once she'd discovered him pacing outside her door that she'd been able to truly shake that fear, and by the time they had reached the car– where he had held the door open for her as he gently helped her in, then leaned in close to carefully draw the seatbelt around her, a tenderness to his movements that affected her breathing just as much as his proximity did – she had almost entirely forgotten her fear.

Because, no matter what he had been through, he was still _here_, and somehow, she knew that's where he would stay.

Eventually, as the drive had grown longer and the city began to fall away, it had been she that had broken the silence; her fingers toying nervously with the seatbelt, she spoke quietly, her voice carrying only the slightest trace of hesitancy as she asked one of the many questions that had been weighing heavily on her mind since the morning before.

"How have you been, Castle?"

There was a pause, a moment of such utter silence between them that she actually heard the almost imperceptible creak of his hands tightening around the steering wheel. Glancing towards his hands, she saw his grip tighten a fraction further– the paleness of his knuckles visible even in the dim light– before he seemed to relax, his hold loosening.

She was still staring at his large hands– wondering just how bad things must have truly been to elicit such a response from the normally easygoing Castle– when he took a deep, slow breath, her eyes immediately flashing to his face as she waited for him to speak.

"I've been doing okay," he answered eventually, but as he did so, he finally turned to look at her, letting the truth in his eyes negate his words, giving her the answer she had both needed and feared to receive. Remaining silent– her vocal cords seemed to have momentarily lost their ability to function– she simply held his gaze steadily until he turned away, once more fixing his eyes the road.

A moment later, he said softly, "You?"

The amount of concern contained in that one syllable was enough to make her throat feel even tighter, her breathing just that little bit more difficult. Watching him as he continued to stare straight ahead, Beckett felt her lips form the beginnings of a small smile, one she knew he couldn't see, but would still hear in her voice as she gave her answer.

"Improving."

And there it was. In less than a dozen words they had just said everything that needed to be said, conveyed a whole series of thoughts and emotions that they could have never voiced aloud.

And for now, it was enough.

The rest of the drive had passed in silence, both of them seeming to know that each mile they traveled brought them ever closer– not only to their destination, but to the place they had been moving towards ever since the first moment they'd met.

Now, standing side by side before the final resting place of their captain and friend, they were closer than they had ever been, both to that final destination and to each other.

Physically drawing even closer to his side, she felt her shoulder brush against his, his warmth and nearness providing instant comfort. Feeling the tension in his body, she nudged her shoulder gently against his, looking up at him so he would be able to see the understanding in her eyes.

"Hey," she said softly, gently drawing his attention, waiting until his gaze stopped its anxious circuit and focused upon her before continuing, "It's okay, Castle. I may be stubborn, but I'm not reckless, and there are some things I wouldn't ever risk. I wouldn't have asked you to come here unless I truly believed it would be safe. And it might not mean much, but if it makes you feel any better, I can tell you that we definitely weren't tailed."

"Unless, of course, you count that guy," she added wryly, nodding slightly in the direction of the car, which was parked almost thirty yards away, and where a dark figure also stood, his stance silent and alert.

"But, considering that he is the same man my father nodded to outside my building this morning, and also the fact that you didn't freak out each time you saw him in the rearview mirror, I'm going to make the wild guess that you know exactly who he is and what he's doing here."

When Castle didn't immediately respond, she lifted an eyebrow, then turned slightly to survey their silent guardian with a critical eye, squinting through the gloom.

"Judging by the build, the gun, and the way that he's standing, I'm going to say ex-Special Forces."

She could have sworn Castle almost smiled. "Ex-Special Forces and ex-Secret Service, actually," he corrected, his voice matter-of-fact, but with just the slightest undertone of mischief. "He was their lead agent during the Bush campaign."

Beckett turned back to look up at Castle, answering devilishly, "Then he's clearly very good at what he does."

He was definitely smiling now. "That's what I figured."

"Well, then let him do it, Castle," she said gently, her voice a little more serious now, her eyes still fixed on his face. "Let him worry about protecting us. It's his job."

Castle's response was quiet, his tone solemn.

"But protecting you is mine."

Hearing the weight behind his admission, Beckett hesitated. She knew what he expected her to say. He expected her to brush him off, or even grow angry with him, telling him that she didn't need his protection, that_ she _was the cop and he merely the writer, and that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

But she did none of that. Instead, she simply sighed softly.

"I know."

That got his attention. Startled, he looked down at her, his eyes meeting and holding hers.

Taking a slow breath, she explained, "We're partners, Castle. We protect each other, and we be there for each other, no matter what. It's what we do."

Dropping her gaze, she exhaled softly, then told the truth.

"I think, of the two of us, I'm the one that sometimes forgets that."

For several long moments there was silence, then, shifting her gaze to the headstone before them, she added softly, "After our… after that fight, I went to the station to see him."

She didn't have to explain who 'he' was; they both just knew. Shoving her hands still deeper into her pockets, Beckett blew out a slow breath.

"I told him I wanted you gone."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Castle wince slightly, then swiftly recover himself, his expression becoming a mask of calm seriousness once more. But she'd seen. She knew that her admission had hurt him, and that knowledge hurt her. But he had to know.

Forcing herself to continue as if there had been no pause or interruption, she spoke again.

"And you know what he said to me?" Pausing briefly, she shook her head slightly, still somewhat disbelieving. "_Okay._ He didn't argue, didn't hesitate. He just said that if it was what I wanted, you were gone."

For a few moments she was silent, lost in her thoughts, before she drew herself back to reality, giving a soft sigh that was part sadness, part wry acknowledgement.

"He knew me so well. He taught me so many things, not only about being a cop, but about myself." _About my heart._

Shaking her head slightly, Beckett stepped forward, placing her hand gently upon the headstone. Feeling the smooth, cold stone beneath her fingers, she silently bowed her head, breathing slowly and deeply as she allowed herself to say goodbye at last; a silent farewell laden with sadness and regret, but also with gratitude, forgiveness, and love.

"_Thank you, Roy," _she whispered softly, opening her eyes to look briefly up at the night sky above them, dark and vast. Then, giving the headstone a small, affectionate pat, she stepped past it, moving slowly but purposefully towards a spot just a few yards away, a place that was fixed in both her mind and her heart.

From the corner of her eye she saw Castle reflexively move to follow her, then hesitate, seemingly torn between the need to stay close, and the wish to respect her space. In the end, he seemed to compromise between the two, coming to a halt several feet shy of where she stood, standing silently between two pale headstones, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes watchful.

Keeping him in her peripheral vision – he wasn't the only one that needed the reassurance of their proximity to one another– Beckett took one final step, then halted, her own hands in her pockets as she stared down at the patch of grass before her feet.

She couldn't quite explain how she could pinpoint this spot so precisely, how she could possibly know that this was the exact place where she had lain, her blood slowly soaking into the soft ground beneath her. There was no perceptible trace of that blood now, of course; even in the daylight, there would be no visible marker to show just how close this spot had come to being the location of her heart's final beat. And yet somehow, she simply knew.

Gazing absentmindedly at the crisp, moonlit lawn, she wondered briefly when it had rained, the falling liquid washing the grass clean, stripping away the dark, ugly stain borne of human violence to once more reveal the lush, simple beauty of nature underneath. The symbolism of the thought was not lost on her; like blood washed away by cleansing rain, much of the darkness in her life was slowly but steadily beginning to fade, leaving behind new brightness and life, healing old wounds and granting fresh hope.

She wondered briefly what Castle would say if she told him that he was her rain. Most likely stare at her with that focused, slightly perplexed look that he always gave her when she did or said something that he didn't fully understand– so, a lot of the time– and then wait silently for her to either elaborate or move on.

The thought saddened her slightly; she hated seeing him so tense, so serious, so lacking in that bubbly, childlike enthusiasm that she had come to love about him. Back in her hallway, he'd seemed to regain some of his old playfulness, the twinkle returning to his eyes for the first time since the days before Lockwood's escape– but with her request to come here, the twinkle had vanished once more, and he'd immediately reverted to his somber, silent alter-ego, which had only further proven the wisdom of her father's words.

Because, once again, he'd been right.

She had survived her shooting without any real damage; now, like her father, she wasn't so sure that Castle had. His wounds may not have been of the visible kind, but they lay as deep as her own– maybe even deeper– and she knew that neither of them would be quick to recover. But then, there was no need to try to rush anything; they had time, and each other.

And, little by little– one small, slow step at a time– they would heal together.

Still, she couldn't help but wish that she could see him throw off the heavy weight that pressed upon his shoulders, wish that she could tell him that he was her rain and have him simply grin wickedly and respond in typical Castle fashion, "_Why? Because I'm always making you wet?"_

Unable to suppress the small smile that curved her lips at the thought, she sent a quick glance in his direction, surreptitiously checking him over. His stance was still alert, his eyes still continuing their slow sweep of their surroundings, but his face was calm, his body missing some of the earlier tension. He was still serious, but he was not the haunted stranger that had frightened her so much the day before, and as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, she finally began to realize something.

This was still Castle.

Not the nine year old on a sugar rush that she'd first known, or even the seemingly carefree guy of a year ago, the one who had taken life easy but was still capable of the occasional displays of maturity and seriousness when the moment called for it. The man that now stood guard over her– the man that had repeatedly risked his life to protect her, that had joked with her, flirted with her, shared secrets and stories with her, comforted her, held her, kissed her… the man that promised her 'always' and asked nothing from her in return but a place in her life – that man was also exactly that; _a man_.

This was the Castle she hadn't even noticed him becoming, the one she hadn't noticed herself falling for even harder than she'd fallen for the slightly irresponsible, yet irresistibly sweet and undeniably charming pre-Hamptons version of himself. That part of him was still in there, along with the sugar-enhanced nine year old– but now they were only two facets of a much greater person, the man he'd always had the potential to be, but might never have become.

But he had, and now that she knew it, she no longer needed to worry that she'd lost the old him, the pigtail-pulling, twinkly-eyed joker that had somehow wormed his way into her life and heart. The joker had simply developed a serious side, and the wisdom to know when it was required.

Suddenly noticing that his eyes had ceased their steady sweep and were now fixed on her– watching her intently, as if he could read every thought that was on her mind– Beckett flushed slightly, swiftly dropping her gaze back to the ground. As she worked at normalizing her suddenly overactive heart rate– she _really _needed to figure out a way to stop having a minor heart attack every time he so much as looked at her or touched her– she chided herself on being so ridiculous, reminding herself that with only the pale moonlight to see by, he probably wouldn't have been able to see her surreptitiously watching him. He probably didn't even realize that she knew he was watching _her._

Briefly she wondered what was going through his mind at the present moment, how it felt for him to be standing virtually unprotected in a place that made him nervous, waiting patiently until she was finished doing whatever it was she'd needed to do. She knew he didn't entirely understand her need to return to this place, to revisit the place that had almost been her final resting place as well as her mentor's.

Sometime soon, she would try to explain it to him; though, in all honesty, she understood her own need as little as he did. Her only reasoning was that it had felt right, and after several years on the job, she had learned to follow that instinctive feeling in her gut. Of the two of them, Castle was the believer; normally, she had no use for words like 'fate' and 'destiny', no interest in the cosmic balance of the Universe, or whatever it was that he was usually trying to convince her to believe in.

But she had to admit that something had drawn her here, a simple sense of rightness, or something else that she couldn't quite understand.

Perhaps, she wondered, it was the symmetry of it all. Making her peace with the past before she could move toward the future; making this a place of both an ending and a beginning, completing the circle that had begun with Roy's death.

Then again, she was a pragmatist. Whatever mystical reasoning Castle might attribute it to, whatever deeper meaning may exist beneath the surface, she would simply call it closure, and leave it at that.

She had unfinished business here; perhaps it was about time she stopped stalling and finished it.

Flicking another swift glance in Castle's direction, she took a deep, slow breath, then gingerly sunk into a low crouch, forcing herself to be conscious of the fact that her last dose of painkillers was fast approaching the point of total inefficacy. Carefully holding herself steady, she rested one hand on her knee and reached out with the other, brushing her fingertips lightly against the grass.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, inhaling the faint scent of the lush grass and the soft earth beneath, allowing her rapid, tangled thoughts to slow, then finally settle, leaving her mind surprisingly clear and calm. As she continued to trail her fingers over the thin, slightly dampened blades of grass, disjointed images rose slowly from her subconscious, as if they had been caged somewhere in the darkest corner of her mind and that being here– surrounded by this place, by the sense of it that she could feel in her every indrawn breath– had finally provided the key.

As the images started to join and flow together, drawing her in, her nightmare slowly began unfolding itself in her mind's eye, but it was different to she remembered, as if something else– some other thought or idea– was merging with it, altering it, forming something new.

And then she realized that it was not Castle that lay on the ground, but herself, and that the tears and pleading words were not hers, but his– and in that moment, she knew.

This was not a nightmare.

It was a memory.

Caught up in the stream of images, scents and sounds, Beckett's breathing slowed, then stopped altogether as she watched Castle's face hover above hers, his desperate pleas in her ears, his final words echoing in her mind as the memory faded away into nothingness.

Slowly, dazedly, Beckett forced her eyes open. Her chest ached; whether from her bullet wound, her overwhelmed heart, or her abused lungs– or a combination of the three– it was impossible to be sure. Her mind seemed to be attempting to process all she'd just seen, but she paid it no attention. She'd wasted enough time thinking, enough time doubting and hesitating. She didn't need her mind to tell her what to do next; her heart knew that already.

Rising slowly to her feet, Beckett breathed deeply, her eyes still staring unseeingly at the ground. Then, her voice soft with quiet wonderment, she spoke the one word that both her mind and heart could agree on.

"Castle."

Though her voice had been barely more than a whisper, she knew he had heard. She didn't need to say anything more; she simply turned, slowly, to meet his gaze with hers.

For a single moment he didn't move, his body seeming to refuse to obey his commands. Then, he seemed to break free of the spell, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the gap between them, his eyes still locked with hers.

Pausing just a couple of feet away from her– a distance that to her seemed vast, given their usual disregard for each others' personal space– he tilted his head just slightly, appearing uncertain, almost as if awaiting permission. She was suddenly struck by the quiet symbolism of the moment, their physical position mirroring the pattern of their relationship; Castle slowly, cautiously drawing nearer, while leaving her just enough room to decide her own move; either stay where she was, and allow him closer, or step back to maintain her distance. For the most part, her role in their little dance had usually involved the latter–something Castle had always accepted with ever-enduring patience– but finally, she knew, it was time for the pattern to change.

Dropping her gaze– the intensity of those piercing blue eyes was impossible to handle for long– Beckett took a silent step forward, her hands still tucked firmly into her pockets.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself– her heart was pounding so hard that she'd hardly be surprised if it somehow managed to break her ribs, and she could feel that same rapid rush of adrenaline that she always got whenever she was about to throw herself into a gunfight– she fixed her eyes on his chest, released the breath slowly, and began.

"You know, on the way here, I was terrified."

She saw Castle shift just slightly, the tiny movement allowing her to clearly interpret his surprise. And yet, his surprise was not about the fact that she had been afraid; most likely thinking that she was speaking of the man who'd given her her bullet wound, he would have been expecting– or even hoping– that she was at least somewhat frightened for her life. No, it was the fact that she had actually openly admitted to her fear that stunned him. But he needed to know.

He needed to know that he had been right.

_You could be happy, Kate. You deserve to be happy. But you're afraid._

Swallowing, she began to explain, her voice still soft but growing steadily stronger as she spoke, determined to make him understand.

"I was terrified, not only of what I was going to say," she paused briefly, taking a slow, calming breath, then continued, "but of what it was going to mean… what it might change."

Turning her head slightly, she looked back down at the grass where she had almost lost her life, adding softly, "But being here– reliving it all– it made me realize I needn't have worried."

For a brief moment, she continued to look at the grass, drawing in another deep, steadying breath before slowly turning back to face him. But this time, she didn't keep her gaze lowered to his chest; lifting her eyes to his, she met them squarely, all evasion finished, all barriers and defenses gone.

"You told me you loved me."

For a split second, Castle looked exactly as she had felt earlier, when she had first met his eyes in the hallway outside her door; as if he'd just been flattened by a speeding freight train. Then, blinking repeatedly, he made a forceful effort to recover himself, sucking in a sharp breath as he suddenly seemed to remember the need to breathe.

As his eyes focused upon hers once more– allowing her to clearly read the fear and anxiety and the tiny, swiftly-suppressed spark of hope that glimmered in their depths– he paused, swallowed hard, and then simply gave a tiny, slow nod.

Beckett felt her own breath catch, her heart shifting up a gear as it worked to keep up.

A memory was one thing. But to have him stand there before her and confirm those three words... that was entirely different. It was… she didn't even know. There were no words to accurately describe exactly how she was feeling, no way to comprehend the magnitude of this moment.

At that very moment, there were only two things that she truly understood.

The first: Richard Castle had the greatest heart of any man she knew, and he was giving that heart to her.

And the second– for the very first time in her life– was her own heart.

Her calm expression defying the rapid, erratic pounding of her heart, Beckett simply held his gaze, her eyes meeting his steadily as she gave a slight nod.

"Good."

Castle blinked, looking as though he was sure he must have misheard her. For several moments he simply stared in shock, his mouth slightly open as he struggled to process what she'd just said.

Eventually recovering from his shock long enough to remember how to speak, he cleared his throat, then finally choked out, "_Good_?"

Beckett simply nodded, the tiniest hint of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. Keeping her eyes on his, she took another step forward, lifting her hands to grasp his lapels, feeling the sharp rise and fall of his chest beneath her palms. Raising herself on her toes, she brought her lips within millimeters of his, feeling his warm breath feathering against her skin, the sensation sending thousands of tiny bolts of electricity throughout her entire body.

"Good," she confirmed quietly, her voice a low, husky whisper. Then, knowing– and completely not caring– that she was now well past the point of no return, that she'd leapt over that cliff and was falling fast with no safety net to catch her– she simply smiled slightly, closed her eyes, and lifted her lips to his.

His lips were warm and soft, and god, they felt like home. She felt his body tense in shock at the contact, then relax almost instantly, his hand lifting to gently cup her face, his mouth moving softly over hers with a sense of stunned acceptance as well as something more tender, something that almost bordered on reverence, as if he were simply cherishing the feel of her.

It was in that brief moment that she first knew it, first truly felt what it was like, not simply to be wanted, but to be treasured– to be _loved_.

Tightening her grip on his lapels, she leaned into him slightly, her heart aching in a way she'd never felt before, a glorious kind of pain that brought a lump to her throat, the sting of tears burning behind her closed eyelids. Finally, she was learning the truth, the secret that you could never be told, but could only discover for yourself.

Love was not when all the songs made sense, like she'd once believed.

_Love was when love itself made sense._

And here, feeling the flood of emotions flowing between Castle's lips and hers, she finally understood.

Acknowledging a need for air, she pulled back only long enough to ensure survival, then claimed his mouth once more, gently deepening the kiss. Lifting his free hand to rest lightly upon her waist, he willingly followed her lead, kissing her back just as deeply, with a tenderness and passion that was steadily turning her bones into water. And, as their lips moved in a slow, gentle harmony, she simply allowed herself to savor the taste and feel of him, reveling in the knowledge that this was _actually finally happening_ and would doubtless happen more– if she had her way, a _lot _more– in the future.

As his lips continued to caress hers, a tiny sound rose in her throat, a quiet hum of pleasure that was somewhere between a sigh and a moan. She felt his hand tighten slightly at her waist in response, his other hand pushing into her hair to cradle the back of her head. Somewhere, in the corner of her mind that was still able to form coherent thought, she realized that he had deliberately placed both hands well away from her wound, even ensuring that there was a slight space between their bodies to prevent causing her any pain. The idea stunned her; even now, when she could barely manage to grasp a single rational thought, his first instinct was still to protect her, to keep her from any pain or discomfort.

Ironically, it made her want to eliminate that protective space between them altogether, to simply wrap her arms around him and crush herself against his chest, bullet wound be damned. As long as he kept kissing her like this, she wouldn't even notice the pain.

As if sensing her thoughts, Castle pulled back just slightly, his lips reluctantly leaving hers as he drew back to look down at her, his blue eyes clouded with both love– though she'd seen that look in his eyes many times, only now could she finally recognize it for what it was– and deep, unmasked concern.

"Kate..."

Knowing he wouldn't be allowing her any nearer tonight, she simply dropped her head and sighed, then spoke in an undertone– more so to herself than to Castle– her voice carrying just the faintest trace of exasperation.

"God, this bullet wound is seriously killing me."

Instantly he tensed, looking down at her, his eyes stark with worry and distress.

"Are you in pain?" he asked quickly, his tone low, heavy with guilt and remorse. "Did I hurt you?"

Looking up, Beckett his eyes steadily, then slowly lifted a hand to his face, her thumb gently stroking his cheek as her lips curved in a small, wry smile.

"That's not what I meant, Castle."

Seeing his blank, concerned look, she sighed, then lifted an eyebrow, her voice dry.

"You're not going to let yourself touch me until I'm fully healed, are you?"

For a moment he simply stared down at her, his eyes wide with surprise and confusion. Then suddenly, the knot of fear and concern inside him seemed to loosen, and his expression grew unexpectedly mischievous, his eyes twinkling at her in that typical Castle way that she had missed so much. Before she had a chance to grow too emotional, however, Castle spoke, his voice light and surprisingly playful.

"Unless I am much mistaken, I am _already _touching you," he answered devilishly, flexing his fingers lightly against her waist as if to prove his point. Then, seemingly to be holding back a smile, he went on, "And, might I add, in a way that just a few short weeks ago probably would have earned me a bullet wound of my own."

Beckett attempted to glare at him, but she was pretty sure the effect was ruined by the elated smile that refused to leave her face.

"You know what I mean, Castle."

"Why Detective, I thought you would have appreciated my admirable sense of chivalry and self-restraint," he countered easily, and her smile grew still wider. God, she had missed this. These little games, the flirty banter and the endless, light-hearted teasing– they had always been something that was _theirs_, their own little exchanges that came as naturally to them as breathing. It was one of the many things she loved about him, and there had been times lately where she had truly feared that they had lost that, perhaps even forever.

Of course, as he so often did, Castle had easily proven her wrong.

Grinning wickedly, she retorted, "Castle, if there's one thing I've learned from our partnership, it's that self-restraint is overrated."

And with that, she set about proving her point; sliding her hand from his cheek to wrap around the back of his neck, she drew herself in closer once more, but not so close that he would fret about hurting her. Then, in a slow, smooth movement, she lifted herself on her toes and once more covered his mouth with hers, her lips parting as she deepened the kiss. His response was immediate and wholehearted, his grip tightening on her waist as he returned the kiss with an intensity that left her breathless.

Heat flared, a fiery wave that spread rapidly throughout her whole body, and she crushed her mouth against his, kissing him almost fiercely as she took it even further, her tongue delving into his mouth, hot and urgent. Their undercover kiss had been one of the hotter kisses she'd had, enough to leave her in need of a large glass of ice water, but this was something else entirely, something so far beyond anything she'd ever experienced or even imagined. She was fairly certain that at this point, a whole ocean of freezing water could be poured upon them, and the only result would be a vast, billowing cloud of hissing steam.

Right now, she scarcely knew how she was still standing, her knees seeming to forget their duty to support her as he kissed her hard, his tongue exploring her mouth, tasting and taking everything she had to give. And hell, she was giving it willingly.

Her head spinning, Beckett clutched him still tighter, a low moan vibrating in her throat. She knew what he was doing. He was claiming her; declaring her as his. He was proving to her that she would never– _could_ never– have this with someone else; all because of the simple fact that she would never love anyone else but him.

And finally, in that moment, she truly understood what he'd meant back by that warehouse, his tone fraught with wonder as he had reeled over that kiss.

_That was amazing._

Conceited though it may be, she'd never thought he'd been referring to her technique in incapacitating an armed guard. She knew he'd been talking about what had just happened between them, but she'd never known that for him, it wasn't just a kiss. As she was finally discovering for herself, it was much, much more.

He must have known. He must have. Even then, all those months ago, he had already known that he loved her.

The fire within her blazed higher, and she dug her fingers even deeper into his hair, kissing him back hard as she allowed everything she felt for him pass though their fused lips, a frank, silent confession of love and promise.

Somehow, he seemed to understand completely, returning the kiss with a surge of fire and emotion that rivaled hers in its sheer intensity and depth.

By the time the kiss began to calm into something a little less likely to kill them both from oxygen starvation, Beckett had managed to reclaim some semblance of control, eventually allowing herself to draw away just enough to tuck her face against his neck, still breathing hard.

For over a minute there was complete silence between them, both content to simply hold each other, feeling their chests rise and fall in unison as their synchronized heart rates slowly began to calm.

Eventually, Beckett tightened her grip just slightly, drawing in a deep, ragged breath.

"God, Castle," she whispered against his neck, her voice hoarse and more than a little unsteady. "I love you. So much."

There was a brief pause, a few silent moments in which he seemed to stop breathing entirely, his body frozen against hers. Then, seeming to recover himself, he let out a long, slow exhale before holding her just a little tighter, his cheek resting against her hair.

"Feels good to finally say it, doesn't it?" he asked softly, his voice both lightly teasing and immeasurably tender.

"Maybe. Yes. Shut up," Beckett responded dryly, absentmindedly nuzzling his neck just slightly with her nose as she inhaled his familiar, soothing scent. Then, after a moment's pause, she added, "And you can get that smug grin off your face, too."

He laughed softly against her hair, effectively proving her right, then turned to press a soft kiss against her temple.

"I love you too, Kate."

Smiling against his shoulder, she leaned into him, content to simply rest against his solid form. There, with his warmth surrounding her and his strength to support her, she could let all of her own defenses go, allowing the exhaustion– both mental, physical, and emotional– to come creeping in at last, without needing to worry. With him there, she was safe.

Because that's what Castle was to her. He was her weakness, but he was also her strength, in more ways than she would ever be able to truly comprehend. But even more importantly, he was simply _hers_.

And now, finally, her walls had crumbled, the armor surrounding her heart had been stripped away, and she was his, completely and irrevocably.

Without her barriers to shield her, she finally knew just how truly right he had been when he'd challenged her that night, back in her apartment. She _had _been afraid.

She'd spent twelve years of her life living in fear, a dozen long years of always hiding; hiding from the truth, hiding from the possibility of being hurt, even hiding from herself.

But finally, after all this time, she knew she didn't need to hide anymore.

No matter what happened, no matter who or what came for them, they would stand and face it.

Together.

* * *

><p><em>So, guys, I guess this is it. This is the final curtain. Perhaps now you have a better idea of my more personal reason for not wanting to finish this chapter–because really, when I began this story, I didn't expect to love writing it so much, and I certainly never expected the fantastic response that I have received from you guys. I'm definitely sad to see the end of our little 'relationship', as I first described it, 10 long chapters ago… but this ending has been in my plan from the very start, and even though I have tried multiple times to envision where I could take this story from here, this is the only option that feels right. I've always known that I'm a 'this is how they get together' writer rather than a 'this is what happens once they're together' writer, so I guess I have to accept that this is simply where the story, both figuratively and literally, ends.<em>

_(by the way, I know that in the description this fic is still listed as 'in progress'. In order not to spoil anyone, I'll change that in a day or two, once most people have read it)_

_But anyway, enough of my little sob session. Since this is in fact the last chapter (because I totally haven't already mentioned that fact about a hundred times lol) I would really, really love your feedback on this one, whether positive or negative, so I can work to improve the chapter as much as I can before I finally put down the proverbial pen. So, if you have a minute, any comments or suggestions you might have to share (regarding characterisation, plot points, typos, whether the way Beckett remembered the 'I love you' was stupid, and did it all just turn into a cheesy mess at the end, etc) would mean a lot to me. Especially since I had to cut my editing short (I literally have to leave home right now if I want to catch my bus) so there's quite possibly stuff I have missed. If so, please tell me!_

_Speaking of comments/reviews/etc, I want to take this chance to thank you all for everything, for all your interest and support and enthusiasm. I couldn't have asked for a better experience with my first multichapter attempt, and it was all because of you guys. To those of you who have reviewed, especially on multiple chapters, I am so grateful to you, for providing both comfort and inspiration when the pressure of this story started so stress me out (as it tended to, now and then). And to those of you who are simply readers, thank you so much for following along. Now that we've reached the end of our journey, I would love to hear from some of you, if you feel so inclined. If not, well, you suffered through ten chapters of gargantuan author's notes, so I guess you've already paid your dues :P_

_So, to all my crackdealers/kids/padawans/jedis/other random names that I enjoyed calling you guys, it has been a beautiful journey, and thank you all for being a part of it._

_Oh, and if you're interested, keep an eye out for the occasional one-shot that will be popping up now and then. I've certainly got no shortage of ideas on that front._

_Anyhow, I will now end this author's note with an apology about this author's note. I honestly didn't intend for it to become so colossal, but then, since when have I ever managed to write a short author's note anyway? Yep, that would be never. But I hope you guys will forgive me all the same._

_Until next time, my friends.  
><em>

_Always,_

_-Laura_


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